Inappropriate Touching
by jenjiveg
Summary: While OCD Edward works on his mental health issues, he meets a girl…who has problems of her own…not the least of which is chronic clumsiness. OOC, AH, BxE. Rated M for lemons and language.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 1  
**

**Twisting**

_**EPOV**_

_OK. If I stand exactly four feet from the buffet table and four feet from this wall, the distance will be sufficient to move back if anyone gets too close. I'll also be far enough into the room that I don't look like I'm purposefully avoiding socializing. _And_, added bonus, I'm still five steps from the door for a quick escape once I've gotten what I came for. I'll _estimate_ the distance from the corner of the buffet. See? Already making progress. Now, I just need to pace-off four feet from the wall. My shoe is exactly 12.5 inches..._

I prefer metric, but US standard measures worked out more evenly when I measured my shoe again this afternoon.

_...so, I'll need four toe-to-heel steps, and then two inches back. Well, I suppose 50 inches will be sufficient, this time._

_Ah, a "small victory." I'll write that in my journal later, along with the buffet estimation._

_OK: One. Two. What is this?_

"Excuse me!" I yelled at the perfume-laden blonde who suddenly hijacked my wall vector. "I need to get by."

"Oh! I'm sorry," she said with an obvious lack of sincerity. Then she moved six inches to my right. SIX GODDAMN INCHES! I sucked in my gut as turned sideways to pass by. I don't think we made contact.

_How am I going to keep people from touching me if they won't move an appropriate distance away from me?_

In my haste, I failed to take note of where I left off in my measurement. So I ended up having to estimate the distance from the wall as well. I acknowledged my discomfort at not being exactly equidistant from both the buffet and the wall, but decided to let it go—another victory for my journal.

As I stood alone in the middle of the room, I realized I should probably feel awkward. People were starting to stare at me: hands in pockets, standing alone, sweating. But at that moment, I was more concerned with how I was going to avoid further exposure.

Dr. Cullen had truly presented me with a challenge, but I had confidence I could do it. Buoyed slightly by this realization, I returned to my inner dialogue (with myself—I don't have dissociative identity disorder):

_If I talk to them, will they expect to shake my hand? _

_I'll keep my hands in my pockets. _

_But what if they reach out and touch me? Will I do like last time and yell at them? _

_No, I'll do better this time...I'll make a plan! _

_Why didn't I make a plan for this at home? _

_Because I spent too much time preparing for the trip over here! I didn't budget enough time to prepare for all eventualities! Now Focus. _

_All I have to do is make casual conversation with one person this evening, that's it. And if someone gets too close, I have room to maneuver, or I can ask politely; so it's going to be OK._

_So, what am I going to say if someone tries to touch me and I can't step away? _

_How about: "If you want to keep your hand, please remove it from my person. I'm armed with a hand gun and am crazy." _

_Hmmm, good start, but that might need work. I should drop one of those sentences. _

_Yes, valid point...But which one?_

I stepped back to allow a tubby man to get to the buffet...I presumed. I didn't actually watch him once he passed. I couldn't even look _toward_the food without wanting to retch.

Instead, I began to stare at the cracks in the ceiling, imagining the plaster falling as the roof opened up, sucking me into oblivion...then realized that by doing that I might look unavailable for conversation.

Not that I cared particularly, but this is a step in my recovery, and a major one at that: attending a social function and having a conversation.

Getting my head back in the game, I decided to go through the memorized conversation starters I discussed with Dr. Cullen at our last session. It was my idea, and he approved whole-heartedly. As usual, he tried to guide me while encouraging me to take ownership of my choices. There were only two of the ten I prepared that he showed any enthusiasm for:

Dr. Cullen Approved Option One: _"Hi, I'm Edward. Sorry, I can't shake your hand, I don't feel comfortable with that. I am an IT consultant. What do you do for a living?"_

Dr. Cullen Approved Option Two:_ "What about this weather we're having? I don't worry too much about the weather. The decimation of our planet is much more likely to be caused by an asteroid, than weather phenomena."_

After I read the second one to Dr. Cullen, he suggested I shorten it to leave an opening for the other person to respond. I suddenly remembered that I didn't have him clarify which part he meant for me to edit. I ruminated on each sentence, considering which one was the most open-ended.

Then, to my amazement, and outside of any possibilities I imagined, someone spoke to _me_!

"Excuse, me."

I looked up into a pair of lovely chocolate brown eyes and yelled, "Hi, my name is Edward! Our planet is more likely to be decimated by an asteroid than weather phenomena!" I didn't mean to yell, but my experience told me that people moved away from loud voices when in close proximity, so loud speaking to strangers has become second-nature.

My brown-eyed conversation partner stepped back slightly, looking perturbed, and I suddenly realized why. So I added, "I'm sorry. What do _you_think will cause our planet's decimation?"

Good save! I congratulated myself.

"Ahem. I need to get by you, and I didn't want to shove you with my plate or glass. Do you _mind_?"

Although this gentleman had lovely brown eyes, his personality was unfortunately defective. I made a mental note to add it to my list of issues to discuss with Dr. Cullen.

I suppose I did not move quickly enough, because he lifted his burdens to my line of sight as I continued to stare into his lovely eyes.

Not one to meet unkindness with unkindness, I stepped back for him to pass. And at that moment, fate or god or happenstance stepped in. I backed into someone. Sort of. I really barely brushed her, because as I stepped back she moved to avoid me.

"Sorry!" she said, tripping and falling on her ass. The back of my heel ended up resting against the sole of one of her shoes.

As soon as I was aware of the contact, I jerked my foot back, almost making contact with another person, but deftly avoided them, by throwing my arms in the air and twisting to the left.

She looked up without meeting my eyes, then turned over to pull herself up to her hands and knees. So, I immediately thought of fucking her from behind (the most sanitary position, in my opinion).

Her behind was lovely. I stared at the loose blue skirt that fanned around her, and watched as she tripped on it twice trying to get up. When she regained her footing, I noticed the skirt was pulled down a little on the right side. I felt compelled to reach down and adjust it for her, but refused to give in. I would make a note of this victory in my journal later.

She put her hands out to steady herself, as though she might spontaneously fall again. Then she dusted her knees. Unfortunately for me, she failed to fix her skirt. I felt even more uncomfortable.

Even more distressing, she turned away and headed for the door, neck and shoulders flushed red with embarrassment. I was so enchanted by the sight I almost forgot her lopsided skirt.

She is who I should converse with, I decided on the spot. However, there were major obstacles to handle first: namely the crowd of people and the fact that she was almost out the door.

I suddenly realized that this was one of those "defining moments that leads to a breakthrough," as Dr. Cullen would say. So, I seized it.

"Hey! Hey, you! Girl who just fell!" I yelled as loudly as I could, cupping my hands around my mouth to aim the sound as accurately as possible in her direction. I wanted to ensure, as much as I could, that she would hear me.

She stopped. Success! I would easily have ten pages of victory for my journal. Dr. Cullen would be so proud of me.

Victory was short-lived, though, for as suddenly as she stopped, she ran. I waited 3 seconds (I couldn't help but notice the clock with a second hand above the entrance) for the crowd of five to move further away from my exit vector, and then made chase.

As I ran, I wondered if this conversation would count with Dr. Cullen if it occurred outside of the party. Surely meeting her at the party would allow me a waiver on that rule. Dr. Cullen seemed to be pleased anytime I bent one of my rules, so I hoped he would be as understanding about his own.

Presently, I caught up with my klutzy beauty in the main hall, just as she reached for the door.

"Please wait! I have something to say!"

Feeling suddenly exposed, I put my hands back in my pockets, but decided to counteract my apparent physical nonchalance with verbal fervor.

"I am truly sorry my inappropriate touching lead to your fall and public humiliation. From the bottom of my heart, I beg for your forgiveness. And let me add that if it were not for the fact that I irrationally fear being contaminated by any possible diseases you may be carrying, I would be happy to shake your hand. My name is Edward."

She stared at me; face red, eyes saucer-shaped, mouth slightly wet with drool (possibly due to hand, foot and mouth disease...but I hoped not). I also noted brown eyes, my favorite, and decided to add this to my victory journal. Although, I couldn't figure out how how her eye color would help me in my treatment. Perhaps reflection would bring a reason to mind...

But that was for later. At the moment, I wondered what I said that left her speechless and apparently embarrassed. It suddenly occurred to me that I was being inconsiderate as I remembered Dr. Cullen's advice during my last session. So, I added one more thing:

"Sorry, I didn't leave my side of the conversation open. That was very thoughtless. Um...Tell me, what do _you _think about this weather we've been having?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**

**Chapter 2**

**She's Actual Size**

The noise that escaped her lips reminded me of a bullfrog. Because that response didn't seem related to the weather, I deduced she was collecting her thoughts. I waited patiently for her to do so.

Somehow, as she stood there not speaking, she began to disappear behind a brown curtain of hair. Once all but a sliver of face was hidden, she mumbled something.

"Pardon? I didn't catch that." I leaned in so close to her lips that I was positive her breath would deposit coxsackie microbes on my face. I hoped her hair would provide a sufficient barrier.

"Define _appropriate_ touching," she managed to say.

I leaned away from her, not understanding her meaning. There was no appropriate touching in my mind. Well, certainly no _sanitary_ touching. Which gave me an idea: "I suppose, if I had given you sufficient warning, and we were both wearing protective gear, we could manage some appropriate touching."

My mind brought back the image of her on her hands and knees. I shifted my weight, subtly adjusting myself through my pockets.

Her hair moved from her face as she smirked, but she continued to look uncomfortable.

Her eyes darted from me, to the party, to the exit and back. Like me, she seemed to appreciate the importance of having an exit strategy. But we had not yet had our conversation.

"Again, allow me to I apologize. I can see you are uncomfortable. Perhaps you, too, fear _further_ contamination. But before you leave, would you mind assisting me with a something?"

She stared at my chest, or possibly my chin, but did not speak. I took this as encouragement to continue.

I gestured with my elbow to the group of (likely) contagious people behind me, "I must have a conversation with someone at this party. Now, I know that we are no longer actually _in_ the party, but I think this is close enough. I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to be out of that room!"

Still mute, eyes shifty, her weight shifting, as though she was prepared to dart away any second; I suddenly realized I had neglected her again. "Do you agree?"

"Yes." She stopped looking at the doors and became focused on my face; but still not looking at my eyes. Her hands twitched nervously, flicking hair away from her face a bit, and I could see she had stopped drooling. I sighed with relief. While whatever ailments that plagued her were still were unknown, I could at least rule out HMFD.

"What is your name?"

"Isabella Marie Swan," she croaked.

"Well, I'm Edward Masen, IT consultant. I work from home...It's safer. What do you do for a living?"

"Filing."

"Oh! Is that something you can do from home, too?"

"No." And then she started dancing from foot to foot, but slowly, as though she didn't want to seem too enthusiastic. "I..." She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, wiping the sheen of sweat that appeared on her upper lip.

Then she said, without pause for breath, "I work in an office downtown a law office with other file clerks I don't actually speak to the attorneys they just leave the files on a cart and when no one is up front I go get the cart and replace the files."

As she spoke, she mimed doing her job so athletically that she was heaving and sweating by the end. She looked relieved when she finished, and started eyeing the exit again.

I finally understood what her problem was...other than being clumsy.

"You have social anxiety disorder!" I yelled.

I often yell epiphanies. It's so exciting to discover things. But this was even better than a discovery, because her disease was not contagious! Indeed, it wasn't a disease at all, but a disorder, like mine.

"Oh, god," she said glancing over my shoulder toward the party. Then she turned to leave. I didn't stop her this time. She seemed quite upset, and I was in no mood to deal with her issues. I had problems of my own.

For example, would this count as a conversation? It seemed like she did all the talking.

* * *

I picked the social function to attend for my exposure outing carefully. I required that I not use public transportation, while Dr. Cullen required that it be a _normal_ social function. He didn't want me in a "contrived" setting.

Fortunately, my boss, James Anderson, had been trying to get me to go to the local AITP (Association of Information Technology Professionals) monthly social gathering since I started working for him over a year ago.

It was ideal. I could walk there, it was on a Tuesday evening (volume of foot traffic would be low), and my going might keep him from bugging me about "needing to get out there and rub elbows with your colleagues." Which apart from being nonsensical, was also disgusting!

Once that decision was made, I had three weeks to prepare. Dr. Cullen always says that "preparation is the key to success." I hadn't the heart to tell him that Alexander Graham Bell actually said it first. Dr. Cullen had done so much to help me, after all.

We first discussed my general fears and responses in social settings, as well as my goals for this specific outing. As I had acute fear of being contaminated by touching and only moderate fear of being breathed on, the goal of this outing was being exposed to airborne contaminants. Dr. Cullen had a different way of explaining it, but I don't recall what it was. It would be carried out by closing the distance between me and another person to normal conversation space. He refused to acquiesce to my request for a specific measurement of this space.

We started with five feet, gradually diminishing the space to about eighteen inches (I am estimating, of course). As we got closer together, I was compelled to use my tape measure which, as I reminded Dr. Cullen, I had personally calibrated with vernier calipers. But he reasoned that as it was unlikely that I would be able to make accurate measurements at the party, it was better to practice not measuring.

In my last session before the party (Wednesday at 8 p.m.), as I went over my preparations, I told Dr. Cullen that I obtained a digital copy of the blueprint of the building where the party would be held. He asked me why.

"Because I need to know where all of the exits are located in case of an emergency."

"Well, couldn't you just take a look when you get there?"

"Yes, but I am anticipating a lot of anxiety, and I don't want to be overwhelmed. If I know where the exits are, I'll be able to focus on my assignment better."

"Are you sure it's not so that you can prepare to take measurements, Edward?"

He was on to me. Although Dr. Cullen was always sensitive to my issues, he wouldn't let something go when he noticed a potential problem. And he was a walking polygraph. But while I couldn't lie to him, I could obfuscate. "I will be leaving my tape measure at home."

"Well, I think that is a good decision. But how do you plan to deal with your measuring compulsion?"  
Busted again."I plan to measure distances based on the size of my shoe!"

Although I began sweating as I loudly confessed that I planned to continue with my compulsion, Dr. Cullen seemed pleased. He placed his finger tips together and smiled.

"That is a coping mechanism, Edward. And it's OK. But I want to challenge you to avoid measuring as much as you can. Maybe you can try to estimate, rather using your shoes. I'm not telling you not to measure anything, nor to leave your measuring tape at home."

"Thank you Dr. Cullen. I was worried that you would say it was a setback."

"I understand. Just make a note of any avoided compulsions in your victory journal and note your feelings about any compulsions you are unable to avoid in your thought journal. I think you are ready for this, Edward. Are there any other items we need to discuss before next week?"

"Well, I wanted to let you know that I thought about your suggestion to meet before the party. But I agree with you, that I am ready. Sometimes when I imagine it in my head, I see things going really well. I see myself having a conversation: we talk about work and the person smiles and they don't breathe on me too much, and I say good-bye and I go home and when I get there, I don't shower more than twice."

"When it doesn't go well, what do you imagine happening?"

"Mostly irrational fears of being contaminated by someone touching me. I imagine how it felt the last time someone shook my hand, and I then I can feel the film of germs that I couldn't wash off for over a year."

"Do you still perceive that you couldn't wash it off?"

"Not any more. But that's how I felt at the time...sometimes, even though I know it's in my head, when I think of it, I can still feel it. A 'phantom germ,' I guess."

"Well, I won't make an appointment with you for Tuesday, but I want you to call me if you need to. Remember, I can't always call you back right away, so don't call my emergency number unless it's a valid emergency. Can you tell me what constitutes a valid emergency, Edward?"

"Thoughts of suicide or of harming others!" I yelled that because Dr. Cullen was suddenly leaning in a little to close for comfort.

He thankfully got the message and leaned back away from me. "Exactly. Otherwise, it can wait for a few minutes, OK?"

"OK."

* * *

When I got back to my apartment after the party, I went straight to the special plastic bags I keep next to the door, pulled one out and put my shoes in, tied it up and put them in the waste basket by the door. I stared at it and ran into the bathroom to wash my hands. Just once.

I didn't measure them again before I threw them away, even though I was compelled to check, in case I got it wrong when I remeasured before I left.

I know that there is a 99.99~% chance that exact size of the shoe is the same, at least on the sole of the shoe. I logically understand that this is so. But sometimes the compulsion is so strong to check. I mean, what if it has changed and I miss it! I would miss important data that could throw the entire statistic off by a small, but measurable, amount. Fuck, it was upsetting! I had to sit on the floor with my head between my knees breathing deeply. After five minutes I felt a little better. The shoes were still at the bottom of the trash can. I refused to look at them again.

Then, I showered twice and I washed my face five times, as it seemed to be the most likely to have been contaminated. Then I flossed (Once! Victory!) and brushed my teeth twice (there was a small rough spot on my front tooth, and it occurred to me there could be other rough spots I missed, so I brushed them all again just to be safe). I wanted to floss again. I stared at the small plastic container, but remembered what my dentist told me: "once a day is sufficient." I'm not a chanter or a counter, but I repeated it like a mantra ten times to calm my breathing.

Finally clean and comfortable, I sat down to type an email to Dr. Cullen:

**Dr. Cullen:**

**I wanted to let you know that I think my exposure assignment is complete. I even spoke to three people, but only one counts as a conversation.**

**I must confess that the conversation did not occur within the confines of the party itself, but rather approximately fifteen feet outside the door and approximately two feet from the main entrance. I did not try to measure either distance, although I was moderately compelled to do so.**

**I met, or rather "bumped into" a nice lady inside the party and spoke to her briefly before she ran away. I ran after her to continue our conversation.**

**It is my opinion that this lovely woman, Isabella Marie Swan, has social anxiety disorder. I won't burden you with a list, but I am confident that she has a sufficient number (possibly all) of the DSM-IV-TR symptoms to be diagnosed with the disorder.**

**I will give you a more thorough accounting of the evening and her symptoms when we meet at our regularly scheduled weekly appointment on Thursday (day-after-tomorrow) at 8 p.m. in your office.**

**I would appreciate it if you would confirm this, as I misplaced the card from the receptionist.**

**Thank you,**

**EAM**

I hit send and sat back in my chair.

I lied about losing the card. But as I typed my appointment information, I had an acute fear that the appointment had been canceled or changed and no one had notified me.

It had happened only once before.

I showed up at his office for our 16th visit and Mrs. Cope, the receptionist, told me Dr. Cullen had to cancel, and apologized saying she forgot to email me to reschedule. I was in such a panic; yelling at her and advising her that I had concealed handgun in my coat pocket (which I am no longer allowed to carry to Dr. Cullen's office, per my patient contract). Dr. Cullen was called out of his meeting, along with the police. Although he talked Ms. Cope into not filing any charges, and had the police leave, he advised me to immediately check myself in to in-patient care.

However, my fear of being confined in a psychiatric ward was greater than my fear that something terrible would happen if my schedule was disturbed and so I ended up having my first breakthrough.

I realized that I could chose the lesser of two "evils." Even if I was still uncomfortable, the lesser was always more manageable than the alternative.

From that day, Dr. Cullen was often able to reason with me by presenting me with two (or more) options to consider when I came up against a potential setback.

I decided that needing to have confirmation of my appointment wasn't a setback. People double-check things all the time. The real problem was that I felt shame about it, which lead me to be dishonest with Dr. Cullen. I pulled out my thought journal and added an entry about the card.

I sat back, going through the evening's victories and compulsions, adding entries to both journals. I errantly considered measuring my journals, but I promised Dr. Cullen that I wouldn't measure anything more than once a day. I took a deep breath and put them on the shelf, lining them exactly to make sure they were the same size. My eyes focused on the brown leather covers until all I could see was brown.

Suddenly, the brown eyes of Ms. Swan swam in my mind. I closed my eyes to focus the memory. _Ms._ Swan. She didn't say whether to call her "Miss" or "Ms." or "Mrs." Was she married? I couldn't remember anything but her face, eyes and that...that skirt. Blue and ass and naked...

My fantasy was interrupted by logic: Why was she at that party? She's a filing clerk. This mystery needed to be solved right away. I could never masturbate while preoccupied with intrusive thoughts.

I initiated a Google search for Isabella Marie Swan.

**A/N: There is a band that I haven't disclaimed. I will, in a later chap, when it's relevant to the story, but not right now. Consider this my pre-disclaimer.**


	3. Chapter 3

******Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**

**Chapter 3**

**Fingertips**

"Something grabbed a hold of my hand

I didn't know what had my hand

But that's when all the troubles began

I don't understand you."

Excerpt from "Fingertips" by They Might Be Giants

I begin each day by measuring all the food in my pantry.

I used to measure twice in the morning, then measure my breakfast, then all food again after breakfast, twice before lunch, then just lunch, then all of it after, then twice before dinner, dinner, and then three times after dinner. Sometimes I would get up in the night and measure it all again. I had weened myself off of all but one measurement a day, and I did not measure my meals (I just estimated).

The morning after I met Isabella Marie Swan, I forgot to measure my food.

I was preoccupied. If I didn't already have an unmanageable set of obsessions, I would have thought _she_ was one of them.

I didn't even remember until I went to bed Wednesday evening. I pulled back the sheet, climbed into bed, recounted my day, and realized I had forgotten to measure my food.

So, I got up and went to the kitchen to get started. I was upset, because this could cost me two hours of sleep, and I had a session scheduled with Dr. Cullen tomorrow. I always wanted to be especially well rested on those days.

I talked to no one in particular about my problems: "That party was a mistake. See, this is what happens when you get too close to people. Maybe you don't always catch their diseases, but you catch other things, like forgetfulness! They haven't proven that it's contagious, but I think I could provide some data that would surprise everyone!"

I carefully laid out my measuring tape, food scale and measuring cups on the kitchen table, carefully pushing them with my fingertips until they were all perfectly aligned and equidistant and stopped.

Why was I doing this?

_Because you want to make sure that you don't lose weight._ That _was_ the original rationale behind measuring my food.

It started innocently enough. I measured to make sure I was getting enough to eat, because Tyler Crowley made fun of me in gym and said I was a skinny weakling. He pushed me and then Emmett punched him. I didn't care that Emmett stood up for me, but I didn't want guys like that touching me at all. I figured if I were strong and intimidating, like Emmett, they would leave me alone.

So, after extensive research at the library, I concluded that increasing my caloric intake while exercising would be the most sound method.

I bulked up a little. Free weights. Very sanitary. Not so that I was gross looking, but I people stopped picking on me. After that, I determined how much I would need to eat to maintain my physique, and measured my food carefully.

Of course, as I became obsessed with it, only measuring my meals was insufficient. I logically understood the irrationality of possibly eating too little. But the fears where temporarily assuaged by giving in to my compulsion, both scheduled and random.

Dr. Cullen worked with me to reduce the number of times I measured each day. After six months, I was down to once a day...for food and everything else.

However, I remained incredibly committed to not missing a single day for the past nine months.

Until today.

I stared at the measuring implements.

I was shaking. But not because I was angry. Suddenly, I was glad. I realized I was more interested in finding out about Ms. Swan than in abetting my measuring compulsion.

I knew this could become another problem. My eyes widened and sweat ran down my neck at the thought of a potential setback. What if I became obsessed with Ms. Swan? Dr. Cullen had warned me about replacing one problem with another.

I pondered this as I put my measuring tools away. But instead of going to bed, I opened her file on my computer.

Although I desperately wanted to hack into every facet of her life, I restricted myself to the things that I could search for legally. My searches yielded an address and her place of employment. The law firm's homepage had a link to an employee directory. Most employers have removed such pages to protect their employees privacy, or at least to discourage headhunting. Brandon & Brown was not one of those.

She had no email address that I could find, not even at work. She also had no listed (nor unlisted) phone number. The unlisted search might have been a trifle illegal. She was not a member of any networking site. Short of stalking her, I could only send her snail-mail.

Not that I would have gone to her apartment anyway. It would have taken me several hours to walk there, as there was no way I would take the subway. The last time I even got near a subway entrance, I got sick and had to cross the street.

Just the thought of a cab made me puke in my mouth a little. I wouldn't take a cab if I were shot in the head. I would, however, run to the bathroom and brush my teeth and tongue twice.

So, mailing it would be. I thought of stamps and almost retched again. My brother took care of all my mailing, but I wasn't sure I wanted to share this...whatever it was...with anyone, except Dr. Cullen. I decided to write the letter first, and worry about mailing it later.

As I got into bed after finishing my first draft, I felt calm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~O+C+D~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks to the kind people at Kinkos, my letter was printed, enveloped and stamped without my ever having to touch it. The nice gentleman even offered to put it in the mail for me. He laughed and said "good luck" before we hung up. I appreciated the sentiment, if not the mirth.

With that task finished, it was time go to my appointment with Dr. Cullen. I headed out the door, excitement in my step. This session would surely buoy my spirits and confidence.

Donning my latex gloves as I stepped into the lobby, I smiled and tipped my head, holding the door open for Mrs. Banner as she passed me carrying her Yorkie. She noticed my good mood and returned the smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~O+C+D~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Cullen took his time updating his notes from his previous patient. I couldn't wait to share my victories, and impatiently tapped my foot, waiting for his eyes to meet mine so we could begin.

I filled him in on my successes and minor setbacks, overjoyed that the former far outweighed the latter.

I also told him about the letter. I didn't have a copy to read, so I hit the highlights.

Dr. Cullen took copious notes. Perhaps he wanted me to mentor him with my long distance wooing skills.

"I know I should have made an effort to do the mailing myself, but when I called Kinkos to see if the letter printed okay, the man _offered_ to mail it for me."

Dr. Cullen looked a bit uncomfortable at this.

"That's very trusting of you, Edward. I hope that there was nothing too personal in the letter."

"Well, nothing that couldn't be found online, other than my credit card information, but I pay for everything with a credit card online, so that doesn't bother me."

"How do you think Ms. Swan would feel about someone else having seen the contents of your letter?" Dr. Cullen probed.

I hesitated. "Why would she have to know? I don't mean that the way it sounds, but I just don't understand why she would _want_ to know."

"Well, Edward, you told me that one of your long-term goals is to be able engage in healthy romantic relationships."

"Yes."

"And one of the elements of a successful relationship is trust."

"I'm very trustworthy."

"Yes. But you expressed to me, and I agree, that this woman likely suffers from social anxiety." He checked his notes. "She had trouble speaking, was flushed, appeared embarrassed, and she ran away from you at the party, possibly as a result of said embarrassment."

"I don't know _why_ she was embarrassed, though."

"Well, we'll get to that. But the point here is that she's vulnerable. She needs to see that she can trust you. Now, do you see anything in your behavior with the letter that might indicate that you have abused, or that she might perceive that you've abused, her trust?"

I ran through each Isabella-related action since she ran out of the party. "Well, I googled her, wrote her and mailed to her. Was it the googling? Honestly, I'm not sure how I could hope to speak with her without having done that. I even told her that I didn't search for all of the private information I _could _have. That should make me _more _trustworthy!"

Dr. Cullen wrote a note shaking his head. This generally meant that I had done something he wanted to address adjacent to the topic at hand. I started to sweat. This was not going the way I planned.

Dr. Cullen took a breath and looked up at me, gesturing with his pen still in hand, ready to write: "Edward, googling her was not untrustworthy. It just shows your interest. Sending her a letter, too, is an acceptable thing to do. Indeed, visiting her in person after your initial meeting would have been the opposite of acceptable for someone like Isabella."

I heard a "but" lingering.

"However," Ah, _But's_ asshole cousin, "According to your comments, you pointed out her disorder repeatedly in your letter."

"Well, it's an important consideration in a potential relationship. It's right up there with her level of intelligence, which I reminded her _twice_ is important to me. I also told her that I would like to assess it in our next meeting. I figured out loud reading and conversation would be good—"

"—Oh, God." Carlisle cut me off. He lost his unflappable composure as he wrote furiously.

Once he stopped writing, he moistened his lips, blinked, and crossed his arms. Then he looked self-conscious and uncrossed them. He would not look at my face. Something was...wrong.

Finally, with hands on his thighs, he looked up at me. "OK. Edward. I want to prepare you for something that you may not understand right away."

Then he got up and paced for a moment. I was quiet, watching him carefully for signals that would help me understand what I did wrong.

"No, not that, yet," He shook his head and continued to pace.

Finally, he sat down and leaned forward a little. This meant he was concerned and serious. He wanted my attention. "First, tell me again how you feel when someone reaches out to touch you."

"Fearful and angry."

"Right, you may feel out of control of the situation, or you may feel that the other person is untrustworthy, right?"

"Yes."

"OK, now how would you feel if, after you clearly indicated that you didn't want to be touched, they came back and did it again and again?"

I didn't have to imagine it. I remembered several such betrayals from my youth.

"Betrayed."

"A betrayal of _trust_, right?"

"Yes..." Then, suddenly, I got it.

"She will feel betrayed."

"Probably," Dr. Cullen rested his elbows on knees, head cocked to the side, staring at me with the inside ends of his eyebrows raised, a small frown on his lips.

His expression indicated that he was trying to give me consolation. Normally, sensitive people like Dr. Cullen would provide this in the form of a hand on the shoulder or a hug, but that wouldn't work for me. People who knew and cared for me always had to force unnatural interactions, constantly second-guessing their instincts to accommodate my problems.

It didn't even occur to me to do the same for her. At least, not in my verbiage. Comments didn't bother me; actions did. I could understand not wanting to meet in public. But I failed to see how my words would be hurtful to her.

I was suddenly filled with chagrin. A word that, until today, I understood only academically. "Is there anything I can do to rectify this situation?"

Dr. Cullen sat back and put his fingertips together. He was brainstorming. I sat back, too, relieved that hope was not lost.

"You can wait. And if she doesn't contact you, you can write her again to apologize."

"How long?"

"I don't know. Wait as long as you can, Edward. Betrayal needs remorse, but it also needs space. You put the letter in her hands. You asked her to call you. If she doesn't, you may only get to say you're sorry in a letter. You may not _get_ to see her again."

~~§•§~~

Three weeks of waiting, and I still hadn't heard from her.

Determined that she not become a new obsession, I punished myself by taking away measuring privileges every time I was compelled to stalk her or write her again.

It was in vain. I still composed numerous letters, each one more desperate than the last.

I called the guy at Kinkos, and hung up when he answered.

With my constant and mounting punishments, I had stopped measuring my food altogether.

I stood at the entrance to the subway, while considering getting on and going to see her. Then I vomited and went home.

On my way out the door to my weekly appointment with Dr. Cullen, Mrs. Banner shrunk from me, her dog barking once my back was turned.

Dr. Cullen didn't look hopeful as I sat across from him. He rallied his spirits and congratulated my success in reducing my measuring compulsion. I told him I was sure I was losing weight, but that I didn't care any more.

I left after fifteen minutes. I didn't schedule another appointment.

Dr. Cullen emailed me, and asked if I intended to continue treatment. I ignored him.

At five weeks, I realized that despite my punishments, I had gained a new obsession anyway.

I decided to give in and typed her a final letter.

An apology.

It was relatively short; less than two pages. The closure would allow me to get back to normal (for me). I would end this before it became unhealthy.

I mailed it by myself. Who knew stamps didn't need to be licked anymore? Not me.

Two days after I mailed my second missive, I received a response.

_Knock knock_

"Edward Masen?" Someone shouted through the door.

I looked through the peephole.

"Yes, officer?"

"Would you open the door, please, sir?"

"Can we talk through the door? I am afraid of contamination."

She sighed loud enough for me to hear her through the door. "Mr. Masen, I have a restraining order for you from Isabella Swan, and I need for you to sign it and take your copy."

I didn't respond.

"Open the door, sir."

Knowing first hand that officers are less likely to touch you when you comply rather than argue, I opened the door. She shoved a metal box at me with a triplicate form attached. I stepped back hands up. It seemed like the right thing to do.

"Sign it."

I looked at the pen she was holding in her other hand. There was no telling who had touched it before. "May I sign with my own pen?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, knock yourself out."

Stepping away with my hands still raised, I walked over to the coffee table still visible from the door, grabbed the pen I had been using to update my journal and came back.

I signed the form, trying to avoid touching the paper and the metal box. I didn't pull out a new pair of gloves because this lady looked less understanding than Rosalie.

With dexterity that belied her experience with triplicate forms, she ripped out the pink copy and shoved it at my hands.

I used two fingers to accept it.

"Have a nice day," she said.

**A/N: **

**All chapter titles will be They Might be Giants song titles (there, I've disclaimed). Don't be afraid of them because their weird. Edward loves them! **

**You may want to ask, so I'll go ahead and tell you: I TOTALLY wrote Edward's letter.**

**BPOV? Yes! I didn't plan on it when I first outlined the story, but she demanded to be heard, and I am a very accommodating writer. You'll hear from her in every chapter from here on out.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**

**I have an aversion to plagerism. **

**That's no joke. **

**I would never steal from anyone, least of all Stephanie Meyer.**

_Last chapter..._

"_Mr. Cullen, I have a restraining order for you from Isabella Swan, and I need for you to sign it and take your copy."_

**Chapter 4**

**Ana Ng**

"Listen Ana, hear my words,

they're the ones you would think

I would say if there was a me for you."

Excerpt from "Ana Ng" by TMBG

**EPOV**

Rosalie was cooking. I watched her carefully clean the pan, proud that I managed to refrain from asking her to wash it twice before using it. Her focus on accomplishing the task without a meltdown on my part, must have been why it took her two minutes to respond.

"Wait...You got close enough to her that she needed a restraining order?"

Then again, it could have been because she wasn't listening. "I never touched her."

Rosalie was incredulous.

"I didn't! I wouldn't touch anyone! I swear!"

"Oh, I believe _that_! But I don't understand...If you didn't go anywhere near her, why would she even _need_ one?" Ripping open and then tipping the tetrapak of tomatoes into the pan, she carefully avoided touching the edges.

"She doesn't. I'm safe. It's...I just betrayed her trust is all."

"What? So, what _did_ you do, Edward?" She stopped, turned around, spoon held in the air away from her hair, and looked at me levelly. I finally warranted her undivided attention.

"She has emotional problems, Rosalie, and apparently I talked about them in a way that made her uncomfortable. And I mentioned sex, which Dr. Cullen said is a no-no in proto-relationship letters. He didn't say those exact words, but that's what he meant."

"No-no?...Proto?...What?...Whatever, Edward. I don't care. How does this affect me and Emmett, again?" She finally set the spoon down. Carefully, and on a clean plate, I took note.

"I need your help to figure out how to win her back. Well, not _back_, I never had her...So I suppose I need your help to win her the _first_ time...Listen: normally, I would discuss this with Dr. Cullen, but I'm not seeing him anymore."

"Whoa," Emmett said as he rolled back from his computer desk. He was reading trail running shoe reviews. I didn't think he had been listening at all.

"You aren't seeing your head-shrinker anymore? Nope. Not gonna happen. That's a deal-breaker, bro. We discussed this. You fall off the wagon; we stop helping you out."

He started ticking the list off his fingers: "Doing your mail, taking care of your shit—" I cringed. "figuratively," he clarified.

Rosalie took over ticking, "—washing _stuff_ before you have to touch it, doing your grocery shopping—"

"—mediating with your boss when you do crazy crap...c'mon, you're gonna make a fuss about crap, still?" I nodded, and he continued: "and soliciting your dates!"

"That was almost two years ago, and it was only five dates," I lamely defended myself.

Before Dr. Cullen, I had hoped that love would cure me. They set me up with a very lovely woman, Jessica. I had met her at their apartment once, and there was mutual interest. She wasn't stupid nor touchy. Emmett and Rosalie tactfully warned her about my relationship limitations while pointing out my potential as an acceptable date, but unfortunately, it ended badly. I refused to come out of my apartment and took a daily panel of STD tests for weeks before Emmett managed to talk me into an appointment with the wise doctor.

"Yeah, and you remember how well that turned out. We're not going down this road again, Ed. You make continued progress so that one day we don't _have _to do this...stuff. So, we'll help you out with aspects of your life that are still...well, difficult...but you have to keep your end. You promised." Emmett went back to his important shoe research.

"You signed a contract," Rosalie clarified.

"But I _am_ making progress. The only setback is this restraining order." I said, gesturing to the offensive and disgusting proof of relationship failure sealed in plastic on the counter. "I _want_ to move forward. I had stalled with Dr. Cullen, anyway. No improvement for nine months. I meet her, and I almost completely stop measuring."

"You've stopped measuring." Emmett looked up again, unconvinced.

"No...Almost...Kind of. It's really complicated, Emmett. See, it's kind of a punishment, so I'm uncomfortable with it...but it's penance, so it sort of feels reasonable _not_ to do it—"

"—You lost me at complicated," he interrupted.

"Yes, well, the point is that I've got a coping mechanism, and it's working for me. And since I've been brooding so much about Ms. Swan, I hardly have time to check out CDC News and Events as much as I used to, and the less I do that, the less I become worried about contamination. Did you notice that I'm not wearing my latex gloves?"

"They're sticking out of your pocket, Edward," Rosalie noted.

"Yes, but they're not on my hands." I raised them to eye level as proof.

"OK," Emmett said, "let's say, we decide to help you out."

"Oh, I'm not helping," Rosalie said.

"Fine. Let's say _I_ decide to help you out. What exactly am I supposed to do?"

"I'd like you to talk to her on my behalf."

"And how is that not soliciting a date, Ed?"

~~§•§~~

**BPOV**

There's a moment when I first wake up...really before I'm fully awake...when I'm confident and I say the right thing and I don't trip over my own feet.

I snooze each morning for at least an hour trying to hang on to _that_ moment; desperate in my attempt to right the social ineptitude of yesterday.

This morning, I was thinking about him, that guy, THE guy, the _man_, the _one_. My Mr. Darcy, Bruce Wayne, or Malcolm Reynolds. You know, the one who is everything you want a man to be plus all the things you'd feel a little dirty asking for?

Yeah, I _met_ that guy...And then...I ran away from him.

I know what you're thinking: "Oh, honey, he turned out to be Wickham, or The Joker, or Jayne Cobb didn't he?"

Well the answer is no. Mhn. OK, not _exactly_...

...

I'm telling this all wrong.

I need to start at the beginning, at the subway entrance two blocks from Alice's.

I managed to trip up the stairs even though I held the hand rail and watched my feet. Then, as I got to the top, I saw _him_, about a half a block away, wearing latex gloves, and I thanked kittens I was wearing a padded bra.

OK, I can tell you this, because, really, who are _you_ going to tell?

I have a thing for latex, especially gloves. It's my kind of kink, if you will.

And here was this guy wearing them in broad daylight.

This is the kind of thing that should be relegated to back door dentist offices and seedy operating rooms. Places of privacy and perverdity.

Yeah, I just made up a word. Get over it. I don't like perversity, it sounds too clinical.

He was preoccupied with something over my head. Following his line of sight, all I saw was the entrance to the subway tunnel I had just tripped out of.

He looked a bit sick. And world weary.

But still hot.

Then, he crossed the street. I turned my body to watch him. Then, I followed him.

He was wearing latex and tweed, with a Mad Men comb-over for crying out loud—suddenly wondering if there's a kinky origin for that expression...What was I saying? Oh, so what else was I supposed to do?

So, I followed him to this nerd party with a buffet. I won't lie. I was hungry. I was going to Alice's, even though I really didn't want to see her, for the express purpose of obtaining free food. And here was a table full of food.

I didn't mean to insinuate that I was third-world starving. Just lazy about cooking. I headed to the buffet and loaded up a plate, keeping my eyes on him at all times.

I don't normally "go" to any gathering in which one is expected to engage in conversation—even the easy weather variety. I hate parties so much I've called in sick to every birthday since fifth grade. I drank two weeks expired milk and induced vomiting to miss my best friend's wedding.

So, food and yummy man aside, I was not happy to be there. But experience had taught me that if you refuse to make eye contact with people and ignore them when they try to talk to you, you can avoid a lot of social interaction.

Oh, and always keep moving. Don't stop. Be a secret agent on a mission.

My mission: eat and watch latex man.

Well, I wouldn't eat _him_...I'd just eat the food...

When I was halfway through my plate of finger sandwiches and Swedish meatballs (tasted like Ikea), I watched him walk...no, was he pacing something off?

My initial thought, that he was here to mingle and mooch free food, was replaced with man on a mission...like me...but a man. What _was_ he doing?

This activity was briefly thwarted by a blond with frizzy hair and ill-fitting blouse, before he reached his apparent goal amongst the minglers, his broad shoulders pulled in like he was trying to give himself cleavage.

A Chris-Farley-looking man squeezed by the object-of-my-spying on his way to the buffet. I inwardly groaned and moved away from the buffet; fat guys always want to talk because they feel self conscious about how much food they're putting on their plates. I headed for the ficus in the opposite corner of the room. Farther away from my stalkee, but I could stay somewhat hidden while watching.

Now, he was staring at the ceiling. I followed his line of sight again to see that he was admiring the colonial reproduction chandelier and plastic-painted-to-look-like-molding-medallion. What? Was he casing the place or what?

He looked around, but didn't really settle his eyes on any one or thing in particular. His inward concentration made him appear a bit spaced out. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to come to a decision when my view was blocked by another man who started talking to him. I heard something about the weather.

His distraction was my cue to make my move. I slid to the left working my way back around the room and positioned myself behind him. I had seen him take the latex gloves off and put them in his blazer pocket when he came in. The ends were sticking out.

I had decided that I would steal one and masturbate while wearing it when I got home, imagining that it was his hand that filled the glove.

Yeah, there was no way I was ever going to actually _meet_ this guy, let alone sleep with him.

But then, horrors! He bumped into me.

Yeah, I have a toe-in problem. My left foot naturally turns in about sixty degrees. It's why I trip so much. Usually, I can focus on keeping my feet parallel, but if I'm not paying strict attention, that fucker moves back inward on it's own.

So, when latex-sex-god bumped into me, I couldn't straighten my left foot in time for my right foot to avoid tripping over it. I fell on my ass. Hard. There would definitely be bruising.

I managed an apology, and then he flinched from me like I had a disease.

It wasn't a big deal. I'm used to men flinching from me when I talk. I rarely speak, so my voice always sounds like I just woke up with a twenty year smoking habit.

I looked up briefly to see his arms in the air like a football referee. My eyes met his. He looked...intense.

My stomach gurgled. The Swedish meatballs were a bad idea.

I rolled over, and tripped again trying to get up. I had a new mission: get the fuck out of here; latex be damned. Of course, that's kind of hard to do when you can't seem to stand, let alone walk.

Once I made sure I was balanced, my feet parallel, I walked straight out the door, brushing party-goers; almost shoving them out of my way to get out.

And then horror of horrors!

He yelled at me!

I wanted to evaporate. Be beamed up to Enterprise, or vaporized by a phaser set to kill.

Even in a room clearly full of nerds this wasn't about to happen. Stupid science _fiction_.

Then I ran. I almost made it to the door, before his voice stopped me again. _Why are you stopping!_? I yelled at myself.

It was a stupid question. Of course I stopped. I quivered at the thought of this guy talking me to orgasm, or if I was really lucky, touching me while wearing those gloves. I hoped he would put them back on, soon.

"I am truly sorry my inappropriate touching lead to your fall and public humiliation. From the bottom of my heart, I beg for your forgiveness. And let me add that if it were not for the fact that I irrationally fear being contaminated by any possible diseases you may be carrying, I would be happy to shake your hand. My name is Edward."

Vaporization was not enough. I was desperate. I willed my self to become Marcie Ross.

No such luck.

He was staring at my eyes, I could tell. I couldn't look into his eyes, but I could feel them burrowing into my head. I recalled that they were blue. Cold and piercing. Judging. Unforgiving.

He said he inappropriately touched me...Oo, I would like that. Inappropriate was my new favorite word.

Shut the fucking front door, he was so mouth-watering I was drooling. I noticed when it escaped at the corners of my mouth. Obviously my mouth was agape, as well.

_Smooth Swan. Winning friends and influencing people is your calling._

Then he spoke again, "Sorry, I didn't leave my side of the conversation open. That was very thoughtless. Um...Tell me, what do you think about this weather we've been having?"

OK. That was a non-sequitur. But I could talk about the weather.

Only I couldn't. Instead, I made that noise that makes me sound like someone without sufficient motor skills for speech. Between that and the drooling, he probably thought I was special ed.

So, I did that "last resort" thing I do; the thing that doesn't really work, but makes me feel a little better when I do it. I started disappearing behind my hair, all Emo like that creepy chic in The Ring.

He continued to stare at me, patiently waiting for a response.

I had two options. I could grab the door behind me and fall out into the street, hopefully getting away with scraped knees, or I could respond.

Before I could think of what was bubbling in my brain, I asked him to define appropriate touching.

What the fuck? Why would I ask _that_? What sane, non-stupid-cow-person would say such a thing? Why would _I_ say such a thing? I mean, if you're gonna throw yourself at someone, why not say something slightly smarter like: "You can inappropriately touch me as much as you want." Or "Why don't you put your gloves back on and come back to my place?"

I thought of a thousand desperately flirty, funny, or just...hell, normal things to say.

"I suppose, if I had given you sufficient warning, and we were both wearing protective gear, we could manage some appropriate touching," he replied.

Oh my kittens. Did he just say protective gear?

Did I just see an erection? Did he just adjust himself?

Did I just smirk?

Did I manage to clearly communicate sexual interest and receive a positive response?

Before I could get lost in the emerging fantasy, I saw several people behind him in the party staring at us. Some looked like they were about to come out there and escort us from the building. I checked the entrance. I could still reach the door in time to get out before anyone got to me. He was still looking at me, and they were still looking at us.

I had no idea what to do. That's a lie. I had an idea. I just had no idea how to implement it without further making a fool of myself.

Wait, he was speaking to me again. He knew I was uncomfortable. He needed my help. _Oh, Darcy. I'll help you with_ anything.

He needed me to converse with him? I was thoroughly confused. Was this a kinky foreplay thing? Is he an exhibitionist?

No, he was glad to be out of the party, so that wasn't it. I agreed with him wholeheartedly.

I got a hold of myself and tried to get my hair out of my face. A piece clung to some dried saliva at the corner of my mouth.

Then, I tried to be flirty, but because I banked empty in that skill set, I think I came across more spaz than supermodel.

Then he asked my name.

I have to stop the plot for a moment to explain.

I have always wanted to be called "Bella." And in my head, that's who I am. When I've chided myself for social idiocy, I'd always think things like "Oh, Bella, you stupid cow."

But if my life were a Disney ride, it would be _It's A Small World_. No _Space Mountain_ for Bella. Everyone around me has been blaring their own ideas about what's best for me. And because I'm thoroughly strapped into _this_ ride and not the other, I've never made an outward effort to correct any of the lame nicknames people have came up with for me: Isa, Izzy, Belly, Bells, Mary Bell, even Zsa-zsa (Thank you, Mike Newton).

As a social cripple, people take it upon themselves to introduce me to others. As a consequence, I've never initiated conversation and I've never had to start an acquaintance in my life.

So when the man of my wet-dreams asks me my name, it can only be kismet, right? A one-time-only opportunity to speak up with the single perfect name I want to be called. The straps are off, the ride is over. Time to head to Tomorrowland.

But because fate was an ugly, evil stepsister, and not a sparkling, fairy godmother, I gave him my full, given name and with that, carte blanche to come up with his_ own_ stupid nickname for me.

I didn't deserve vaporization. I deserved to a hell of singing puppets.

To make it worse, I had to tell him about my glamorous job, ensuring that he would never plug any of my holes with any latex covered appendage. Ever.

"Filing," I said.

And when I finally got my speech muscles going, I word vomited and gyrated and forgot to breathe.

As I planned my escape from this clusterfuck, he said: "You have social anxiety disorder!"

And the sound of his mellifluous voice echoed in the foyer.

Half the people in the party suddenly appeared at the entrance, staring, clearly judging me.

I was reminded of the last dance I attended at thirteen, when my date yelled at me for repeatedly stepping on his feet and I responded by projectile vomiting on his suit.

"Oh, god." I could feel the meatballs working their way up my throat. If I didn't leave immediately, they would end up on him.

No one should treat tweed that way.

So I ran.

...

And barely peaking over the covers at the sun-drenched world around me, instead of imagining the infinite ways our meeting could have gone better—how I could have said just the right thing and ended up in bed with a guy I was absolutely positive could give multiple, kinky, mind-blowing orgasms—I have the worst night of my life thus far on repeat.

I get up, grab my phone and call Alice. I can't face humans today.

**A/N: Initially I wasn't going to write BPOV. But she called to me in my head, and said she wanted to set the record straight about Edward and the restraining order. **

**Bella's a shifty, dirty bitch. **


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer: I give Stephanie Meyer full credit for everything that jumped out of her head._ **

**Chapter 5  
**

**Don't Let's Start**

No one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful

Everybody dies frustrated and sad and that is beautiful

They want what they're not...

Excerpt from "Don't Let's Start" by TMBG

**BPOV**

Two weeks after I met Edward-the-Latex-Sex-God (who I was repressing within an inch of my life), I got a call from my best friend Angela.

"Hey, Izzy! How's it going? How's Alice?"

I liked Angela. She lobbed grapefruits I could easily bunt with monosyllablic responses.

"Good."

"Hey, I know you're busy, but you've got a stack of mail here. Would you like me to bring it by the office tomorrow? I'm heading that way for a meeting with Abrams and Bond, and it wouldn't be any trouble at all."

"OK."

"Great!" Then, she hesitated. "Um, I know you don't like going to restaurants, but really I'd like to have lunch with you if you're free."

"Sure! How about Reuben's?"

Her excitement oozed out of the receiver at my attempt at a full sentence. (I have to warm up for anything that resembles conversation.)

"Great! I'll pick you up at noon, OK?"

"Yup!"

She mercifully hung up without forcing me to go through the "bye" ritual, which I hated because I've never been positive when _exactly_ the conversation was over. It was not so bad when someone said it first, but most people "try to be nice" when talking to someone who is shy, so they've usually waited for me to say it first.

Of course, I've _never_ said "bye" first, because I've never said anything unless it was a response to someone else. So, there has always been this stretch of endless silence until they get the message.

But even when they _have_ said it first, I've been left feeling like I waited too long to say it back.

Then there was the tension that I've never understood, which may or may not have been because they were uncomfortable talking to me...or it could be that they had more to say, but didn't want to be pushy. I could never tell.

Anyway, I _much_ prefered being hung up on.

And Angela, being a perceptive person, was quick to figure it all out without my having to tell her and without numerous mute phone call endings. She was why I had a friend at all.

And then there was Reuben's, the only restaurant I would even consider because I never had to worry about ordering.

After a month of going there with Alice, each time begging her to order for me, and consistently getting the exact same thing with no variation, the servers started asking me if I was getting my usual, to which I only had to nod.

Another month of that and I didn't even have to nod. I was ignored completely, but served to perfection.

I'm sure that leaving a 100% tip helped, too.

Angela had never accompanied me to Reuben's. And I'm positive she didn't know I ate there, because I didn't tell her, and Alice was only interested in talking about herself.

So tomorrow I would be able to have what, in my estimation, would be an almost perfect lunch out. To anyone observing, I would appear confident and carefree, because the conversation would be easy, the social pitfalls, minimal.

Settling down for the evening (and pointedly _not_ thinking about Edward), I went to my closet and actually picked out something to wear, instead of grabbing the first clean thing I touched. I decided on my favorite blue skirt (incidentally, the one I was wearing when I met Edward, who I was not thinking about), and some blouse Alice gave me last Christmas. It still had the tags on. I never wore it because it showed more skin than I liked, but I just knew that tomorrow was going to be a great day and the uncharacteristic top matched my enthusiasm.

~~§•§~~

Each morning, I locked up my parents place and walked to work, where my sister lorded over me and the rest of the world.

During my five block commute this morning, I tried to work out why Angela wanted to eat with me today. It was odd, because I usually only saw her on weekends if at all.

See, I had to move (temporarily) back into my parents' home after they died. And because Angela and Ben needed a place to stay while they looked for an apartment they could share, she was actually doing me a favor by staying in my apartment.

Why did I have to move out of my own home?

Alice.

She decided that it would be better for me to move there, so I would be within walking distance of work, and so I could sort through our parents' stuff in my off time.

I didn't want to lose _my_ apartment, though, because it was close to the library I liked and had a little park across the street where I could spend Sundays reading under a particular boxwood, where no one could find me.

I probably should have had my address changed back to my parents' place while I stayed there. But because most of the mail I got at my apartment were bills that Angela was paying and junk and catalogs, it seemed like over kill when I would be moving back, soon. I suppose we could have sold my parents place at any time, but I was waiting until Ben and Ang didn't need my apartment anymore.

As I thought about all of this, I realized that Angela wanting to have lunch with me today was probably so she could give me good news of the we're-moving-out variety.

I hadn't been dreading putting my parents place on the market too much, because I knew that Alice could take care of it. She would probably be excited about having a new project, and she did like that show about primping and pimping your home to sell...I forgot what it was called, but it was on that cable network for Domestically Inclined People (AKA House Whores).

Of course, regardless of my forced involvement, I'd have to actually talk to her...and Alice was a lot easier to deal with when she was talking to me and not the other way around.

Just then I missed the curb, my left foot catching, and faceplanted.

I reached into my bag for the first aid kit, grabbing a wipe. It wasn't that bad, and I figured a tiny scrape would draw less attention than a massive band-aid.

So, with trepidation, chin still oozing blood, I took the elevator to the top and headed to Alice's office.

"Good morning Isabella! How are you today?" asked Lauren, Alice's third assistant in as many months.

Can I just say that I hate the phrase "how are you?"

Sure, I could answer with a simple "fine" and be done with it. But people always expect you to return the question, so it becomes a two word _minimum_ response—more if they decide to regale you with the story of their lives in which they (invariably) require active listening.

I didn't break my stride nor make eye contact as I replied, "Fine. You?"

And I just _knew_ she would keep talking. I should have omitted the "You?" even if it _was_ impolite, but it's become a hardwired response.

I heard her chatter about my chin, but I ignored her, knocked and then opened Alice's door...I'd take Alice over an office flake convo any day.

Her voice hit me like g-force. I plugged my ears, stepped in and closed the door behind me. Fortunately for Lauren, the door was soundproofed.

Fortunately for me, Alice was almost finished.

"**You tell that fucking **_**asshole**_** that he'd **_**better**_** sign it! I'm sending **_**Felix**_** at EOB today to collect it, and he's not cute and cuddly like Maria...I swear it, Jasper, if you try to **_**push**_** me on this, we'll not only **_**bury**_** you in attorney fees for delaying the paperwork but we'll take the **_**kids**_**, too...Oh, stop **_**crying**_**, you big baby. Your client **_**fucked his SECRETARY**_** in front of those kids...well, he practically did. You just test me, **_**big boy**_**, and I'll make it look like he had the little **_**freaks**_** starring in **_**PORNOS**_!"

You would think I would run and hide during a display like that, but it wasn't necessary. As pushy as she was, she _never_ yelled at me like that.

Of course, I wasn't an idiot like Jasper.

He was probably jacking off on the other line.

I, on the other hand, would do absolutely anything she asked, without hesitation or consideration.

Only idiots and masochists argued with Alice, and while I acknowledge that I have a latex fetish, that's about as far as my kink has evolved.

I could tell they had moved on from the lawyer shit to the sappy shit by the sudden subdued tone of her voice; she sounded like a drunk baby.

"OK. Yeah. I love you, too, pumpkin!...Well, tell him said hi, and to hug Peter and Charlotte for me..." She giggled. "Yeah..." She looked up at me through her thick mascara'd eyelashes, then turned around in her chair whispering so I couldn't hear. About a minute later she turned back around, looking up at me, grinning like a lush. "...OK...At seven. See you then...No _you!_...No _**you**_!"

I started to back out and leave. Crazy yelling and sex-whispering I could handle, but this was torture. Alice stuck her finger up to hold me.

Twenty "no yous" later and she finally hung up and turned her full-Miss-Bingley attention to my frumpy-Mary-Bennett figure.

"Hey, sweetie! You look nice today! I _love_ that blouse. Is that the one I got you at Barney's at Christmas? What happened to your _**chin**_? Fall _again_? You _need_ to be more careful. Lauren has a first aid kit. You should get some ointment and a band-aid on that. Angela said she's taking you to Reuben's! I would go with you, but I have a lunch meeting with my PI, Demetri, to find out what _dirt_ he found on our cousin Alec. Do you remember Alec? He's the one we stayed with during our summers at the Hampton's growing up. You know! He taught me how to sail. Anyway, his wife is _divorcing_ him and I'm repping her and he's being a _li_-ttle difficult about the alimony. Jasper's trying to help him out, but the man _did_ fuck his secretary, so I'm not sure what grounds he thinks he has to hold us up."

This could take longer than I expected. I wasn't sure when I'd have a chance to say anything because Alice rarely asked questions that required a response.

Part of me was grateful, because I hated answering questions. I _could_ have tried to interrupt her if she would pause for breath, but that was unlikely. She had the lungs of a free diver.

"So what are you doing up here? Oh, I know, it's because I have, like, a _million_ files to go back downstairs and a list of diaried files that _Lauren_ was supposed to req yesterday, but, of course she didn't because she's _useless_. But it's OK. I'm firing her at five, so, no worries!"

She was finished gathering her files and looked at me with her eyes squinched as if she were blinded by the sun and finally asked a question that required a response: "Where's your file cart?"

I sighed and hoped I could get what I needed to say out of my mouth and into her brain before the inundating chatter resumed.

"Alice."

Saying her name always ensured I got her full attention. She loved hearing her name. She surveyed me calmly, but didn't speak.

"I need to talk to you about something."

She beamed at me and drug me over to her couch. "Would you like some coffee, Belly? Tell me what's going on. How can I help you?"

I don't drink coffee...But Alice knows this. She's just saying words to carry her from one thought to the next without pause. I take a breath and continue.

"I think Angela and Ben are going to move out."

"Yeah, I know! Isn't that _great_! But don't you worry! I already took care of the apartment, for you, Belly! Tsk. Why don't you _trust_ me more?That's what Angela was telling me about. I know you don't want to be _bothered_ with selling your apartment! So, I've already called the realtor and she already has some buyers on the line. You're lucky that you'll be able to sell _and_ get a decent price. I'm so glad I could take care of this for you!"

What? My apartment. MINE?

Her smile was glaring. She ignored my gapping mouth and questioning eyes and gave me a squeeze. My hands stuck out from her back like Tyrannosaurus Rex arms. She was cutting off my air, and I was suddenly afraid she was about to break my neck.

When she does this, I have fantasies where I burn her at the stake. But first, I cut out her entrails in front of her and burn them!

I was about to slap at her with my useless appendages, but she decided on her own to release me from her death grip.

Vital oxygen replenished, I only managed to tell her "thanks."

Then she remembered the files and sent me on my way to get the filing cart before I could find my voice to protest...not that I would.

In theory, I could have easily taken care of this misunderstanding by calling the realtor and telling her I didn't want to sell the apartment I owned. I would simply behave like Alice and _get it done_.

The problem with that plan was that Alice would find out about it, and make my life a living hell.

Well, living hell-_er_.

Speaking of hell, the lunch I was looking forward to because of its ease, was about to get complicated. Even if Alice was deluded enough to think I was on board with selling my apartment, Angela would not be.

As a matter of fact, the more I thought about it, the more I believed that Angela was probably hoping that _she _would have been the one to tell me that Alice was selling it out from under me. She probably thought it would be easier coming from her.

Lunch with Angela was exactly what I thought it would be.

I told her three times that I didn't want to lose my apartment. Then she turned into Alice's bitch, trying to change my mind.

"I just don't understand why you would _want_ that apartment when it's twenty blocks from your job!"

I shrugged. "Subway's OK."

"But your parents place is secure. You have a _doorman_ for crying out loud! And a parking space!"

I pointed at myself with a fork speared strawberry. "No car." I didn't add that I've been opening my own doors since I was two.

"OK. I know it's probably too big for one person." I agreed by pointing my fork at her and nodding, my mouth full of fruit.

"But it may not always be," she shimmied her shoulders and giggled at me. I rolled my eyes.

"Seriously, Iz, there is this guy in the building we're moving into," she wiped her mouth and put her napkin on her plate; noshing giving way wild hand gestures and confiding arm touches; "and he's quiet like you! And cute! Jesus! If Ben and I weren't a sure thing, I'd totally go for him!"

I shook my head furiously throughout her spiel about his abs, job and sports interests.

I do not date any more.

Dates are events that are supposed to lead to talking, walking, sharing and NYT Sundays. If they start _really_ well, they can even lead to terrific things like children (from the Latin, terrificus, meaning frightening).

But in my case, there are only two kinds, and neither kind lead to anything long term:

Date A: The guy tries _really_ hard to get to know me because he's A Really Nice Guy. So he'll get me to talk, hear two or three words come out of my mouth, and remember he has an early conference call, breakfast meeting, workout or phantom pet.

Date B: He's already sloshed when I meet him _and_ very full of himself (and thus not interested in what I have to say), which often leads to casual sex and no second date, guaranteed.

And I'm almost always game for Date B...if the guy is wasted and the lights are out...those types never expect you to stay and talk. Often, the less I say, the more turned on they are. I think it's a mystery thing.

And the truth is it's super easy to find guys like that. Between Alice and Angela I've been set up on numerous Date Bs.

The added bonus is that casual sex partners never mind using a condom, and they don't bat an eyelash when I go down on them while they wear one.

But, the older I get, the more they set me up with guys that are supposed to end up falling in love with me...so it's always Date A. No sex, just humiliation...did I mention I'm not into that shit? Well, I'm not.

"You know Alice doesn't want it either." What?

Oh, Angela had segued back to discussing my dead parents home while I ruminated.

She paused.

I didn't comment.

She continued: "I think she's still too upset about what happened. I think she just always wants the place to _be_ there, like Everest."

I turned my head and looked at her. "What?"

"You know, like this thing that you'll never do, but you like knowing it's there?"

"Oh." I didn't tell her she misused the cliché. It _was_ a unique take. But if you _must_ use one, you really _ought_ to use it properly.

"What about you?" I asked. I would love to unload the apartment on Angela. Alice might even go for that because she could still visit.

"What? What are you saying?"

Shit. "Uh...you and Ben. We could switch."

"No, no, that won't work. Even if we didn't already have a place, that's...just not something...you know...that I could ever even _consider_...I mean it's expensive to maintain, not to mention we couldn't afford it anyway."

"Doorman. Parking space." I sweetened the deal. I could tell she was interested and had even thought about it. Who talked her out of it? Alice?

"Space." I added. She knew that four bedrooms could lead to endless floor plan possibilities.

"Our apartment has space! Two bedrooms and an office."

"Closet." I coughed. Had to be Alice behind this. What was her deal, anyway?

"On that note, here's your mail," she pulled the small stack from her brief case. "When are you getting your address moved?"

"Never." I could dig in my heels here with Angela. She wasn't brave enough to tell Alice we talked about this.

However, this wasn't a problem that was going to go away on its own.

I stashed the mail in my bag and didn't look at it again until I got home.

Among the catalogs and magazines in the stack was a letter from EA Masen. The address was local. It looked like it came from an individual, not a business.

I opened it.

It was a roller coaster ride of shame, humiliation and arousal. I didn't know if I should be grossly offended or masturbating. Probably both.

I'd never had such strong and ambivalent feelings in my life.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 6**

**Birdhouse In Your Soul, part 1**

_I'm your only friend_

_I'm not your only friend_

_But I'm a little glowing friend_

_But really I'm not actually your friend_

_But I am..._

Excerpt from "Birdhouse In Your Soul" by TMBG

**BPOV**

I read Edward's letter over and over, skimming the embarrassing parts...and lingering, perhaps too long, on the parts with latex and sex.

I was trying to figure out how I was going to send an email with no computer, when Alice called. I guess Angela decided to spill the beans after all.

"_**Isabella Marie SWAN what are you THINKING? Are you thinking at ALL? Why would you even CONSIDER selling Mom and Dad's? How is that even and OPTION? It's NOT and let me tell you why: that home is OURS, your's and MINE, and I don't WANT to sell it. Do you UNDERSTAND? I WON'T sell it. Do you HEAR me?..."**_

I put the phone on speaker, turned down the volume and left to make a cup of tea. Alice would be yelling for a while.

I turned and looked back at the phone, frowning...She never yells at _me._

I guess I can kiss my apartment goodbye. Even if I _could_ convince Alice that she can just _have_ the damn place, she would bring it up all of the time; accusing me of trying to sell it out from under her and other conspiracies.

I'm going to have to play nice, and get some time and space between me and her crisis before I can even _try_ to get out of this mess...if that's even possible.

After pouring my tea, I pulled out the NYT and started today's KenKen puzzle (Harder, 8x8, of course). Alice was still shouting. As I worked on a 24+, 4-square cage, I heard the tell-tale sighing that indicated she was winding down.

I selected the last number in the cage, then picked up the phone, ready to start my amelioration. This part would be easy: she would tell me exactly what to say.

Oh, shit, she was actually crying. I take it back: _This_ was worse than baby-talk with Jasper.

"...I just don't understand how you could be so _heartless_, Belly. All of our memories are tied up there, you know?...Maybe this is my fault...I didn't tell you how much it meant to me...You were probably just trying to help out in some way. You just didn't understand..."

She seemed finished, so I said, "Yes, Alice. I was trying to help. I didn't understand."

I became a parrot. A robot. A 1950s housewife without the cool threads.

She sighed with relief. "That's what I thought. I'm sorry, Belly. I should have told you exactly what I thought...So..." all signs of tears suddenly gone from her voice. "What are you up to?"

Shit. Now she wants _me_ to talk, so she can make sure I'm not mad at her. This is another reason I don't argue with her: the scream-fest after-care.

"Reading my mail," I say, deftly jumping onto the next land mine with both feet.

"You need to get your address changed. It's really inconvenient for Angela to get your mail to you, and she's going to move out in a month or so. Do you want _me_ to take care of that for you?"

"Sure."

Alice didn't respond right away. What more did she expect me to say?

"Angela said you got a letter."

?

"I got a lot of stuff." I was suddenly wondering if Angela committed a felony.

"It's just...Angela said it looked personal, and it was pretty thick for something innocuous like a solicitation for donation or something. There was no business name or anything...What was it?"

Fuck. This is _not_ what I wanted to do right now. _I_ wasn't even sure what the letter was. This was about the _worst_ time for the Alice Inquisition. Unexpected and relentlessness, it would likely be the death of my calm...torture was a given.

Hmmm. On second thought, the letter was definitely a _kind_ of solicitation...but not the kind that Alice was thinking of. What to say...

"I...uh..."

"Isabella. Take a breath. It's just me. I won't judge you. I promise. Take your time, and tell me: _who sent it_?"

This I could do. Grapefruits. Easy answers. Ones I didn't have to think about and analyze and second-guess. "Edward Masen," I bunted back.

"OK. And is this Edward a friend?"

Friend? Definitely not. Plus, if I answered "yes," _she_ would to presume that he's more than a friend. But if I said "no," then she would want to know what he was to me. I was seriously fucked.

"Sort of."

"Did you go on a date?"

Easy: "No."

Her silence tells me she's on the scent. "Where did you meet him?"

Obfuscate: "I met him...uh...on my way to your house...uh...a few weeks ago. He was...um...going to a party." Where I drooled and stared at him, and almost puked on his shoes.

"You picked up a guy on the _subway_?"

As if _I_ would ever pick up a guy..."No."

"**You picked up a guy on the STREET?"**

"NO." Damn, she was being dense today.

"So, why did he _write_ you? Is he a Luddite or something?"

"No, he's an IT Consultant. He googled me."

"Sexy! Wait. What _else_ did he find out?"

"Not much. Work address."

"So, when are you meeting?"

"I don't know..." I said, trying to sound non-committal, but clearly coming across as worried.

"What's _wrong_ with him?"

"Nothing."

"Spill."

"He has OCD."

And then I enjoy the brief silence that precedes Alice's measured, diplomatic response.

"Only you would find someone like that on the_ street_. Let me give you a piece of advice: he has the _wrong address_ for you. Use that to your advantage. _Ignore him,_ and he'll _go away_. I have a _much_ better candidate for you. He's from a _great family_, but he's very nice...maybe a little shy, but perfect for _you_."

Read: he's rich, stupid (and/or ugly), and probably desperate enough to marry you and take this shame away from our family...finally.

And I couldn't argue with her again. It wasn't like I would actually call Edward...No. I would never do that. I've never called a guy in my life. And I don't have email. I'd have to put forth a (relatively) great amount of effort just to contact him, and I wasn't sold on him anyway. Better to just leave it alone. I preferred non-confrontation anyway.

Now, about this _other_ guy...not sure what to do.

"Maybe."

"Oh, you'll LOVE him! Don't worry about a _thing_. I have the perfect plan. Just leave it to _me_. It might take a few weeks, but I'll set _something_ up. He travels a lot and I want to make sure you have the _perfect _first meeting."

I wanted to ask her if he liked latex, but I didn't.

~~§•§~~

A few weeks later, I get another frantic call from Alice.

"_**What the fuck, Isabella?"**_

What, and...what?

"Um..."

"**Angela stopped by my office with another piece of mail for you from **_**Edward Masen**_**. And let me tell you. If I had **_**known**_** what kind of guy he was, I would have already taken care of this **_**weeks**_** ago. This is a **_**serious problem**_**!..."**

Oh. Kittens. Oh fluffy fucking kittens. What did Edward send to me? Wait. How does Alice know what it said?

"You read it."

"**You bet my sweet ass I read it! As your retained legal representative, I have the **_**right.**_** It's in that POA you signed."**

I was ruing the day I signed that damned Power of Attorney.

Alice convinced me that it would be an easy way to get stuff taken care of for me. I should have known she'd use it against me.

"Listen. I took care of it. I was just really worried, Sweetie! This guy isn't just a loser, he's _bad news_. Did you know he's been arrested before? My PI found out that he pulled a gun on his shrink's _office_ manager!"

I should have been on the same page with Alice. A guy pulling a gun is pretty scary...but in that moment I wasn't relieved that I had dodged the bullet (literally and figuratively). Right then and there, I decided that I hate Alice. She is all the things that Edward isn't. He has resources at his disposal that would have allowed him to find out all kinds of things about me. But he didn't. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have come by my work at any time. He gave me plenty of space, and from where I was sitting, the worst thing he did was write me a couple of letters...

Alice, on the other hand, who is supposed to love me, and be an advocate for me, just waltzes over mine and Edward's rights like the FOIA. She never lets me decide for myself. She's like Willow Season 6...which _is_ my favorite dialog-wise, but with severely warped personality issues...but back to my Alice hate-age...

"Alice. What did you do?"

"I put a restraining order on his ass!"

Fuck. I needed to fix this. But, first I had to get off the phone with Epitomized Evil.

"Thank you, Alice."

Now. I have to figure out how to remove this restraining order.

~~§•§~~

I'm still mulling over ideas (stalling) about what to do about the restraining order, when Mike comes over to my desk to tell me I have a visitor.

I must have looked like I was setting a trap for flies.

"Zsa-Zsa." He snapped his fingers at me. "Earth to ee-zsa-beh-la! There's some _guy_ here to see you."

I closed my gob and nodded. Surely Edward wouldn't ignore the restraining order...would he? Hmmm, well, he _had _pulled a gun on that office manager.

I peered around the corner and I saw the top half of a monstrously large man with dark hair. He kind of reminded me of Frankenstein's monster. I'd never seen _him_ before. Just as I was considering hiding behind a filing cart, he made eye contact and spoke.

"Are you Isabella?"

Was _this_ the guy that Alice was supposed to set me up with? He didn't look very shy to me, and meeting me at work would definitely not meet Alice's idea of "perfect first meeting."

Nor mine. We should meet somewhere with alcohol and low lighting.

"Yeah," I managed.

And then he grinned with the most genuine and caring expression I'd ever seen.

"Hi, I'm Emmett Hale."

He thrust his hand forward across the partition. I approached him tentatively and gave him just the ends of my fingers. He looked like he could be dangerous for my hands.

Then, I nodded, but kept silent. If we were going to go out, he might as well get used to propping up both sides of the conversation.

"I'll bet you are wondering who I am and why I'm here, right?"

I nod again. Kewpie for the gentleman!

"Well, I want to tell you, but I don't want you to run away before I say everything I have to say. So...um...is there anything that I can do to put you at ease? Would you be more comfortable if I were..." he looked around briefly for someone to whisper his next line from behind the bushes.

Of course since we were in a law office and he was clearly not Christian de Neuvillette, he was disappointed. So was I. I could use a Cyrano myself.

"...seated? Do you have a chair? I could stay out here and sit, so you'd be, well at least a little, taller than me. And I'll sit sideways. He pointed to a chair near the door reserved for the desk where documents were scanned. I rolled it to the partition, opened the half door and pushed it out for him. He sat down. I closed it back, staying on the other side in the filing room. It gave me the impression that he was here to confess.

"OK." He turned his head to check on me. "Are _you_ OK?"

What's his problem? I nodded once, curtly, raising my eyebrows in annoyance and, hopefully, urging him to continue.

"OK. Like I said, my name is Emmett Hale. I'm here on behalf of my little brother."

Oh. Now I get it. Alice is my pimp and this is his. OK. I'll play.

I nod slowly with understanding.

"He's a really nice guy, and I just think that, well, I have no idea if you would like to meet him or not. I'm guessing that, considering what happened...I guess I'm here to apologize for him...again. He is REALLY harmless. I don't know what he wrote that would frighten you into getting a restraining order, but..."

He stopped when he saw my expression. Who needed fly paper when I was around? I couldn't speak, but I needed to get my face under control before he misunderstood. Clearly he would be afraid that I was about to call security.

Silly man, I would never do that, even if he held a gun to my head.

I cleared my throat and prepared to speak.

He saw what I was trying to do and waited patiently (just like his brother) for me to get my shit together. I was determined not to make this speech vomitous.

OK. Let's clear the air. "I didn't get the restraining order," I croaked.

"You didn't? Who did?"

Thank Hello Kitty! He knows how to lob grapefruits!

"Alice."

"Alice?"

"My sister."

"Ohhh. So..." he thought for a minute. He had figured out how to get me talking, but I was sure his mind was _full_ of open ended questions.

"Do you _want_ there to be a restraining order?"

Quick learner!

"No."

"No, huh? So...I guess she just decided on her own that you needed it."

I nodded. This man was an angel. My new best friend. My Pimp Kitty.

"Huh. Well, that sucks about your sister. I guess she's trying to do the right thing for you, but shouldn't that be your choice?"

I wanted to hug his neck. I lurched forward to do it, but stopped before my arms reached across the divide. If he had issues like Edward, I didn't want to scare him off.

He seemed to understand what I was getting at, though, because he reached over the partition and patted me on the shoulder.

"I can't remove the restraining order, but if you _do_ want to meet up with my brother, I can help with that."

Suddenly, I realized I wanted nothing more than to see with Edward again. I grinned and nodded.

"Do you think you could remove the restraining order, though? I don't think he would want to see you if it's still in effect. He's pretty worried about going to jail. You know. Germs."

I decided Edward was worth the trouble of having to actually _go_ to the police station and take care of this by myself. "OK."

On the other hand, Emmett seemed like an excellent wing-man. "Will you go with me?"

"Sure. I'll go with you. Just tell me when and where."

A/N: Cyrano de Bergerac is an awesome play. Bella could use a Cyrano...maybe she'll find her own panache, eh? Let's hope so. Edward is hurting for some face time!

*FOIA=Freedom of Information Act


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 7**

**Birdhouse In Your Soul, part 2**

_Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch_

_Who watches over you_

_Make a little birdhouse in your soul_

_Not to put too fine a point on it_

_Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet_

_Make a little birdhouse in your soul..._

_And while your at it, leave the nightlight on inside the birdhouse in your soul._

Excerpts from "Birdhouse in Your Soul" by TMBG

**EPOV**

I waited at Emmett and Rosalie's store. I could have gone to my apartment, where I would stay comfortably ensconced; away from customers and possible contaminants. But I knew that Emmett would come here first, and I needed to know as soon as possible what happened when he went to Bella's office.

I understood the risk of him meeting her, that it could result in stronger determination to keep the restraining order, but if there was any chance that she would ever speak with me again, it would be because of Emmett's personality.

Emmett is the only person I've ever met who wholly embodies the definition of disarming.

I discovered this first hand in the two years we lived together at the group home starting when I was twelve.

I came to live there after my mother died of viral pneumonia caused by influenza—the seasonal kind, nothing special, just typical Type B. Ironically, she was fastidious about hygiene, and although I have no idea how the two of us became sick with it, I've always wondered if I will one day unwittingly make the same mistake she did and become deathly ill again.

Her fear of hospital germs is what kept us away until it was too late for her, and almost too late for me.

As I recovered, the doctors worried about my weakened immune system. So, I was kept in a plastic tent for several weeks.

It should be no wonder, then, that I became so afraid of getting sick that I avoided direct contact with people or with anything that wasn't sanitized. This was no problem in the hospital; everyone wore latex gloves and kept things clean. But as I prepared to leave and was approached by my social worker and others who did not wear gloves to interact with me, I often became violent, kicking and screaming threats. I never meant to hurt anyone, but I discovered quickly that when threatened, most people would back off and leave me alone.

Why did I have a social worker? I had no living relatives to claim me.

It was determined that I would probably never be adopted, considering my age and "emotional problems," so rather than finding a foster home for me, I was sent to the group home.

I met Emmett within moments of arriving. I held a garbage bag with the few books and clothes I was allowed to keep and stood as close as possible to the barred window in the front room...without touching it, of course.

The furniture was sparse. The couch tread-bare. The other kids looked dirty; their snifling red noses and stained shirts silent proofs of infection. Most were frowning, some even scowling.

But there was one boy, an entire head taller than the others, who looked clean, face scrubbed and ruddy. I stared at him, and he smiled at me with his mouth and his eyes. No one ever did that except my mother. I wasn't sure how to respond. Should I return his smile?

I did. My reward was a punch in the arm and an open palm on my shoulder as he introduced himself. Bruised and astonished at his betrayal, I kicked and screamed and told him to get his fucking hands off of me before I kicked his ass.

Emmett initially reacted in a similar way to the others who dared to put a hand on me without latex. He backed away, hands up. I held my arm out from my body, staring at it, imagining the germs growing there. Then, I turned my eyes to his face, searching for an answer...but only succeeded in taking in his size, which was incredibly intimidating up close. He could easily break my arm, or possibly my neck.

Somehow unable to turn from my present course of action, however deadly, I stood taller and stared him in the face, accepting of my fate. Emmett backed away some more. Then, he said he was sorry.

He told me later that I was the only person who had ever fought back against his friendly arm punching. He knew why I fought back; I was more afraid of germs than being beaten up by him. So, he left me alone.

Soon after our initial meeting, he was grounded for failing an algebra test and I offered to help him bring his grade up. It wasn't long before we were best friends.

I found out that he had been brought to this place after he was kicked out of his fifth foster home. He never said why and I never asked. It was clear enough to me that those parents just didn't know a good thing when they had it.

Emmett started helping me out in other ways. I often refused to eat the food they gave us, because I was afraid of getting food poisoning. He asked me what food felt safe for me to eat. Then, he sneaked into the kitchen in what he called a _midnight raid_ to get me extra portions of the food I would eat.

He never once went in there at midnight, and even though he explained why he called it a _midnight raid_ several times, I never understood.

When I was fourteen and Emmett sixteen, he was adopted by Esme Kimball. But when it came time to go, he refused to leave with her unless she would take me, too. Emmett told me later that he didn't have to say much to convince her, she just took in my malnourished form and frightened face and knew what she had to do.

Esme always took special care of us, which she said was made easy with a hefty trust fund...of course I knew even then that I needed a lot more help than Emmett. We both went to a private school. But Esme was always having conferences with my teachers about me, from my refusal to work with a lab partner, to my outburst when I was forced (that one time) to shower after gym.

Even though Emmett was always at risk of being put on academic probation (when I wasn't helping him), he never needed Esme to come to school and explain his behavior to his teachers like I did.

Emmett was better adjusted in other ways, too. While I stayed at home and read or worked on computers, he enjoyed a long line of girlfriends, buddies and extra-curricular activities.

He always worked hard to include me when he brought friends and girlfriends home, even though I rarely showed my face. To them, I was the little brother who stood in the doorway, correcting everyone when they made grammatical errors and asking them to wash their hands before handling food.

Although he didn't mind them arguing with me, Emmett would send them home and never speak to them again if they ever made fun of me.

After I graduated high school, I worked in the Software Engineering department as an intern and later as a full-time employee at Kimball Systems, one of Esme's father's companies, while earning Bachelor's and Master's degrees from Carnegie Mellon.

As I was about to finish my Masters (which I was able to earn online at CMU), Emmett and Esme encouraged me to see a therapist because my issues had become unmanageable. They knew it would be almost impossible for me to get and maintain a job if I couldn't deal with being around people. Esme knew that I could go on working at KS, but it would limit what I could do with my degree if I stayed there.

The first person I saw was a psychiatrist, who suggested that things might have gone a little better for me if Esme hadn't been so indulgent. He wanted me to blame her for all my problems. He wanted me to thoroughly examine my childhood experiences and curb all compulsions while staying heavily medicated.

I was barely able to function with all the medication, and I just didn't follow his reasoning about Esme. I also became fearful of even going to see him and often lied to him about my progress because I was afraid of what he would do.

When he realized that I was still afraid of being touched (even though I had told him I wasn't), he tried to shake my hand. I got away from him and told Esme that I wasn't going back. She promised never to ask me to see another therapist again.

I never told her what the doctor said about her.

She would never know what Dr. Cullen would do to help me, nor that when I told him about my previous experience, he pointed out that things could have been a lot worse if Esme _hadn't_ gotten me out of the group home when Emmett left.

She would know that I got a job. Thankfully, it was one I could do from home. I worked as a Software Engineer for Green Hills Integrated Systems, a company that builds ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning) software, mostly for the legal industry.

Esme died twenty-two months ago, and I became even more dependent on Emmett. He and I were as close as any brothers she always said, so it just made sense to me to move out of her apartment and into one across the hall from Emmett and Rosalie's.

Rosalie said she "wasn't thrilled" with the arrangement, but Emmett convinced her that it was a "lot easier to take care of melt downs when you don't have to waste time changing out of your PJs," which sounded very reasonable to me.

Rosalie came to realize, just like Esme did when she got us out of the group home, that Emmett and I were a package deal. And I knew that her tolerance of me was just another way she showed Emmett how much she loved him, because she told me so.

Presently, Rosalie was restocking prAna T-shirts. She had taken me off what she called her "shit list" and so, I was allowed in the store, even if she did cut her eyes at me periodically.

I earned this privilege because I ate her muffin last week.

She had baked a whole batch. I watched, ensuring she kept her hands and all surfaces clean. I had complemented her on it, too, telling her it was the best muffin I'd ever had.

Then Emmett said, "You bet it is!"

And because I wanted to stay off of that dirty list, I was doing my best to "not scare off the customers." I stood behind the counter, hands in my pockets, perusing the current KAVU catalog for a new button-up shirt. I liked the quality of the shirts Rosalie and Emmett kept in stock, but it was always so hard to find one that wasn't some kind of plaid.

I debated how long I would have to wait before I could ask her to turn the page for me. It was likely that she would yell at me for doing "something fucking weird" if I pulled my gloves out.

Before I could make up my mind, I heard the _Ding!...dong!_ of the store entrance. I peered around the corner to see Emmett walking in with his chest held high, like he did that one time he won a bet on fantasy football without my help.

"I have a letter for you Edward!"

I ran around the counter, pulling my gloves out of my pocket.

"Not in the store!" Rosalie hissed.

Two wannabe anglers looked up from their fishing line. I stuffed the gloves back in my pocket and Emmett and I went into the back.

"Man, do you have to wear those? I mean you said she was _The_ Girl. Shouldn't you, like, work on getting desensitized to her, or something?"

"Ah, you mean become actively immunized to any diseases she may be carrying," I said with a nod. "Interesting. I'm not sure it would work with a piece of paper, though."

Emmett stared at me dumbly.

"Could you spray it with Lysol?" I tried.

"No."

"Well, did she look sick? Piqued? Sniffly? Was her nose running? Did she sneeze? Was her face flushed? Was she out of breath? Did she seem tired?"

Emmett ticked off on his fingers: "No, no, no. No. No—_yes_, but I think it was actually a blush—no and no."

I hesitated.

She did have a lovely blush...

Emmett thrust the tri-folded paper at me. With hands sweaty and a little shaking, I took it—with my non-dominant hand, of course.

"Did you read it?" I asked.

"No. Oh, and I have news. She lifted the restraining order."

"She did?"

"Yeah. Apparently, her sister intercepted your last letter and got the wrong idea."

"Why didn't she respond after the first letter?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet what you have right there will address that."

"Thanks, Emmett." I held on to one corner and began to shake my hand to open the letter, but Emmett stopped me.

"Maybe this is something you should read alone, dude."

"Right. Good thinking." I carefully refolded the letter, and turned to leave.

~~§•§~~

**BPOV**

I think my face was red the entire time I was at the police station with Emmett. The lady at the desk looked at me like I really needed to have a POA.

"So you say your sister got the restraining order against your will?"

"No...I, uh...you see she...see...hmmm...OK...I _gave_ her authority...to...you know...act without me...that is, without my...um...permission." I realized I had been gesturing with my hands a lot and forgetting to breathe, so I was heaving and sweating. The officer looked suspicious.

"So..."

"So...I didn't know that she, um...that she did it—**got** it...and...now I do...and I don't..._want_ it...the restraining order...that is."

The officer shifted through some papers in the file, finally finding what she was looking for.

"Okaaaay. By the way, just so you know, she gave us a copy of the...er...letter, that Mr. Masen sent to your address. We will be keeping it in the case file."

I raised my hand as though she had asked the class a question.

"Yes."

"May I have that?"

"What, the letter?"

"Yes."

She leveled her gaze at me: "You haven't _read_ it?"

"No."

Here it comes: "And without having seen the reason for the restraining order, you want it lifted."

I nodded.

She left the desk shaking her head and mumbling something about crazy white people. She returned with paperwork to lift the restraining order and a copy of the letter.

After I signed the release forms and read Edward's letter for myself, I asked Emmett to give me a few minutes while I penned Edward a note. I felt like I owed him some communication, especially after reading his last letter and thinking of how upset he must have been to receive the restraining order, when all he wanted to do was apologize for bothering me.

The police officer stopped me before I finished the salutation to tell me to take my "crazy" off of her desk and out of the station.

I finished the letter on my lap on a park bench across from my office building. It made my handwriting a little shaky, but it was already pretty poor to start with.

**Dear Edward,**

**I got both your letters.**

**The first one took two weeks to get to me, but that wasn't your fault. Alice, m**y overly protective sister, **intercepted the second one**.

**She got the restraining order. I lifted it.**

**I've added my new address below. This will ensure that your letters to me are neither delayed, nor intercepted.**

**You do have some serious problems, but so do I.**

**I don't want to meet you, yet, because you're afraid of germs and I don't do well with face-to-face conversations.**

**I suggest we write to each other for now. I hope that's OK.**

**Edward, I would like very much to be your friend.**

**In your first letter, you expressed a desire to get my name right. That meant more to me than you will ever know. Please, call me Bella.**

**Your friend,**

**Bella Swan**

**P.S. I followed you to that party. I'm too embarrassed to tell you why. Maybe one day I will. I hope that you can focus enough to keep writing me, even though you don't know the exact reason. B**

My hands shook at the prospect of writing a second post script. But before I could stop myself, I quickly added:

**P.P.S. I wasn't offended by the sex references...in either letter. B**

~~§•§~~

**EPOV**

Bella wasn't offended.

And she followed me?

And she wants to be my friend. She "would like very much" to be my friend.

The best part was at the beginning of the letter. She didn't get the restraining order.

But she didn't say why she never contacted me after the first letter, and she still doesn't want to meet me. Yet.

I thought about that for a while. On the one hand I was very disappointed. On the other hand, this would be a good opportunity for me to continue to work on my problems and get well enough to enjoy her company...face to face.

I pulled a piece of paper from the top of the stack on my desk. I was going to write her by hand. I had already stocked up on paper after my first letter so I could print them myself, at Dr. Cullen's suggestion. Writing by hand seemed more intimate, though, so I couldn't resist. Also, I would have to think about what I wrote. I would have to chose my words carefully.

But first, I wanted to practice writing _Bella_. I pushed the paper aside and pulled out the journal I had ordered the day after I met her.

As I practiced the loops and curves of her name, I remembered what Emmett said to me while I had dinner with him and Rosalie. He said Bella looked like a deer, terrified and ready to bolt any minute.

I knew about deer. It was possible, if they were young and you were still, that the deer would eat out of your hand.

Although the thought of a disease carrying animal putting its mouth anywhere near my hand was was revolting, I tried see Bella, emotionally, as a deer: timid, but with the right behavior on my part, brave enough to approach me. Only figuratively, of course, because deer are disgusting.

With this in mind, I began my letter.

**Dear Bella,**

**I enjoyed getting a handwritten letter from you. I touched it with my bare hands, even though I was afraid of contamination. I washed my hands twice after reading it. I am keeping it in a plastic bag next to my computer.**

**You said you followed me to the party. I'm actually impressed. I didn't even know you were there until I bumped into you. You must be very stealthy. Perhaps your quietness was used to your advantage.**

**Speaking of which, in case I didn't say it clearly before, I'm glad I bumped into you. Looking back on it, I'm not sorry at all. I hope you understand my meaning.**

**What kinds of things do you do, other than filing in a law office and following strangers to parties? I already told you that I like to read, and I hope you do, too, although, I don't expect you to read out loud to me. Now that I think about it, it might be nice for us to read silently together. **

**I mostly read trade e-mags, but I am also fond of 19th Century classic literature. While it can be quite upsetting, with people getting sick and using table cloths to wipe their mouths, I very much enjoy the way that the characters speak to each other with respect. I also like the courting rituals, because they are much more sanitary than those of today. They even wore gloves while dancing, which is something I approve of wholeheartedly. **

**I also like puzzles, especially number and logic puzzles. They are easy and relax my mind.**

**Do you have any hobbies? I hear they are a lot of fun. I mostly measure things. I don't think that fits the definition of a hobby properly, though. It's more of a compulsion. I do get relief and a temporary sense of relaxation when I do it, so in that way, it is much like a hobby.**

**I've been measuring less, lately, because I've spent a lot of time thinking about you (and that is never a waste of time). I would like to find other sanitary things to do, though.**

**I googled "hobbies" yesterday, but most of them looked disgusting to me. When I saw that stamp collecting was a hobby, I almost vomited. I apologize for using such a crude word, but it is the truth.**

**My brother Emmett likes to spend time outdoors. I'm not opposed to the idea, but you can only spend so much time out there before not having a clean toilet and soap becomes a serious concern.**

**Many of my colleagues play online wargames and RPGs (Role Playing Games). I checked a few of them out, but the blood is too graphic for me. I'm quite surprised the characters don't die from blood borne illnesses! I was particularly upset when I discovered that there are rarely antiseptics available. Clearly the level of accuracy is lacking.**

**Before my mother died, I used to play the piano. I was quite good. They had to sell it to pay for her burial. Esme, my adopted mother, had one, but I was always afraid to touch it. I've thought about purchasing a baby grand myself, but I'm still not convinced that it wouldn't be a potential hazard to my health.**

**I hope you don't think I'm too forward by asking this, and if I am, please tell me, and I will never bother you with it again: How do you cope?**

**That was one of the first questions Dr. Cullen asked me when I started seeing him. It made me feel better right away because I could see that he really cared about how difficult my life can be.**

**I hope that my question communicates the same level of concern. I am very interested in what life is like for you. Perhaps, if you can help me understand, I can do a better job of making you feel comfortable talking to me.**

**I look forward to your letter.**

**Your friend,**

**Edward Masen**

**P.S. I'm glad you weren't offended by the sex references.**

previous next


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimers**_

_**1. No, I'm not writing about you. Your life just happens to be exactly this interesting.**_  
_**2. No, I don't claim any ownership of any kind. I've sold all my possessions and am now following a guru who likes to be called "Shiny." I've been promised eternal happiness if I only live in her basement for five years while keeping her house clean. I told her that there probably isn't any hope for me, but she said her god could change even me. I was skeptical at first, but since she gave me 20 licks with her leather strap last week, I haven't forgotten to do the dishes even once, so I think she may be right...**_

**Chapter 8**

**New York City**

_You called me last night on the telephone_

_And I was glad to hear from you 'cause I was all alone_

_You said, "It's snowing, it's snowing! God, I hate this weather."_

_Now I walk through blizzards just to get us back together_

Excerpt from "New York City" by TMBG

**BPOV**

How do I cope? If I didn't already know that Edward had a propensity for awkward sincerity, I would have thought he was baiting me. But I knew he really wanted just to know.

How could I tell him about all of the weird things I do to avoid people...like only shopping for groceries like a ninja in cover of darkness and sneaking past break rooms and water coolers to avoid empty co-worker convos? Why would I even _want_ to tell him those things? It was embarrassing. I lived my life in the hopes that people wouldn't see me, let alone my coping mechanisms. And here he was asking me to detail them.

Maybe.

Or maybe he was just asking about how I deal with my issues emotionally.

I wondered if his inner monologue was as involved as mine. Did he constantly question everything? I suppose if he had been seeing a shrink, it was likely that he did at least a little questioning. Maybe I should be doing more of that myself.

I found it funny, too, that he wanted to talk about hobbies; as if we were attending a garden party and shooting the shit...like we were buddies.

He was trying to be my friend, like I'd asked.

But now, I wasn't sure that's what _I_ wanted. I bit the end of my thumb, pacing. The parquet was cool underfoot. I briefly considered grabbing a pair of socks...but that would lead to slipping and falling, so I decided to forbear...

The problem was that I don't do relationships, and Edward wasn't the kind of guy I could just fuck and move on. I would probably have to do a very complicated (read: sanitary) mating dance just to get him in my pants. And the truth was...I kind of _wanted_ to...you know, do the dance. Not just for sex, but...

I dropped my soggy thumb and stared out my living room window (if I _must_ live here, it's going to be MY living room...at least in my head).

It was very early; the street sweepers were out, and there were still unopened bundles of newspapers on the stoop of the newsstand across the street.

I imagined _us_ reading the NYT together. I grinned at the thought; me stealing the Arts section while Edward perused the Tech section.

I had never considered a future like that for myself, but here I was contemplating it with him.

Hmmm. Although...Would he ever even _touch_ a newspaper? Did I care? I mean, to be honest, I was pretty stingy with the thing already. But he could read it online, right? We could still do that thing couples do...just in our own way.

So, if I wanted us to move forward from just writing weird and jilted letters, I needed to consider his needs. I had to exude cleanliness and health, for a start. This was not the time to tell him that if it weren't for the maid service, I would have the filthiest apartment in Manhattan...

When I met him at the party, he seemed just as terrified as me, what with the sweating and the refusing to touch me.

Perhaps I needed to focus on all the things we had in common.

For example, it seemed like it was very unlikely he would want to drag me to social gatherings. He wouldn't want to go to places I hate: restaurants, malls...the public restrooms. He would probably be happy, just sitting at home or going to the library. And that was a major thing we had in common.

He also liked some of the same literature as me...and logic puzzles...we could race to see who would finish KenKen first.

We both liked latex. That was a _big_ bonus...and he seemed to like sex, or at least the idea of sex with me. Another bonus.

Keeping those things in mind, I went to my bathroom, then I began my dance.

**Dear Edward,**

**I want to let you know that before I started writing this letter, I washed my hands. I hope you will feel safe reading it.**

**I am not sorry you bumped into me, either. If you hadn't, we wouldn't be writing each other, and all I would have gotten for my trouble in following you would have been a pathetic consolation prize.**

**I am sorry, though, that I ran away from you. But I had a good reason. Please don't be upset, but I was afraid I was about to vomit on you (because I was nervous, not because I had a virus or anything), and I didn't want to do that, so I ran away.**

**I actually never follow strangers and I don't go to parties, either. I don't want you to get the idea in your head that I'm cool, like a spy, or something. I'm a pretty boring person.**

**I like 19th Century classics, too. Although, we'll have to agree to disagree about people getting sick and wiping their mouths on tablecloths. That's not to say I like those things. It just doesn't bother me. People getting sick was a good source for plot development back then, and was true for the times, so like with many things, we just have to take the good with the bad, right?**

**Let me tell you a secret about me: I like to find hidden places to read. My favorite used to be under this huge boxwood in the park near my apartment (the Google address). It was shaded even in the summer, and quiet, and I could see the feet of passersby. I didn't have to worry if anyone got too close, because the thick leaves kept them from being able to see me.**

**I liked that you were forward enough to tell me that you find me attractive. I am flattered, although I'm not sure why. I've always considered myself quite plain. In fact, my mother would say that to me almost every time I would leave the house: "Oh Isabella, what are we going to do with you; so plain!" I do believe you, but, really? You even imagined me naked?**

**Do you still wear latex gloves? And, if you don't mind my asking: why do you wear them? Is it because of the fear of germs thing? Do you ever see yourself not wearing them? I'm just curious.**

**You know, I was supposed to be an attorney like my sister, Alice, who is my fraternal twin...I don't think I mentioned that before, did I?** Both of our parents were attorneys (they died in a car accident almost a year ago, by the way, so I understand what it's like to lose parents). I went to college as an English major at Brown University, but dropped out after two years and started working at my mother's firm (Brandon and Brown), while Alice stayed at Brown and went on to get her JD. Then she took over our mother's practice when she retired. Alice changed her last name from Swan (our father's name) to Brandon (our mother's maiden name, which she had never given up in the first place).

**Wow, Alice is way more interesting than me. If she weren't already married, I would suggest you date her...no strike that, she's very handsy.**

**You asked me how I cope. I am, frankly, not sure how to answer that. I can tell you that I avoid a lot of the same situations as you, but for different reasons, I guess. I am a walking social idiot who rarely speaks out loud. Since I stopped dating, I rarely have the opportunity to be embarrassed in public, so I have very little active coping to do most of the time. But I'm willing to try and get out a little more. Maybe it's time.**

**What about you? I know that you don't get out much, either, but how do you do even simple things like buy groceries and clothes without touching people?**

**Because of the not talking much thing, I'm still a little reluctant to meet you in person again. I want to, but I worry that I will embarrass you or me or both of us. I can tell you, though, that when I do, I will not be sick and I will be very clean. I won't touch you unless you ask me.**

**Your friend,**

**Bella Swan**

**P.S. Can friends talk about sex and attraction? If so, I must tell you that I find you very attractive also...and I don't mind at all if you talk about it...sex, that is. Also, I think I would enjoy reading more about your thoughts about sex, because I'm curious...as a friend.**

**P.P.S. I've imagined you naked, too.**

~~§•§~~

**Dear Bella,**

**I'm going to address the end of your letter first, because it seems like you are either teasing me or flirting with me, and if it is the latter, perhaps you would like to update our relationship status. I know I would...**

**No, I don't think that talking about the things that I want to talk about (regarding sex) are appropriate for friends, especially ones that are just getting to know each other. However, if we wanted to be ****more**** than friends, then talking about sex would be very appropriate, as it is an important component of healthy relationships. I have this on good authority from two reliable sources (If you must know, my psychologist, Dr. Cullen, and of course, my brother, Emmett, whom you've met).**

**You don't know why you're flattered? Well, people are usually flattered because someone says something nice about them, which is often perceived by the flattered one as untrue. In this case, however, it is indubitably true. I am a completely honest person. You are very attractive.**

**Perhaps I should be ashamed, but I still imagine you naked. Even now.**

**I know that, as a friend, I should apologize for thinking of you naked, but I'm not actually sorry. I hope that statement doesn't scare you, but let me point out that you have brought up sex in both of your letters, both times indicating that you weren't offended and wouldn't be if I brought it up again. So, even though it goes against my idea of being a friend, I don't see why I should be sorry for thinking of you naked, which is a natural progression of talking about sex, for me, anyway.**

**I want to meet you, too, but I want for both of us to be comfortable. I know what I need to be comfortable to meet you, so I have a suggestion: why don't you meet me at my brother's and his wife Rosalie's apartment? She cooks very well, and I can guarantee that it's sanitary. Emmett said you seemed to become pretty comfortable with him when he visited you. I can tell you that Rosalie is straightforward, but kind. It's not a public social setting and my brother and his wife will be sensitive and not bother you with staring and lots of questions, as they mostly stare at and talk to each other.**

**Are you free this Friday at 7 p.m.? Would you call me if you can come?**

**I've enclosed my phone number again. I hope that you will call. If not, you have my address. Emmett and Rosalie's apartment is directly across the hall.**

**To answer your question about how I manage my life, all I can tell you is that I have the great fortune of having Emmett and Rosalie in my life. They take care of groceries and clothes and a lot of other things. I'm working on being able to do all of those things by myself, but, obviously, I have a lot still left to work out.**

**Your "?"**

**Edward**

**P.S. I always have my latex gloves. But lately I have been trying to not wear them at all. I will not to wear them Friday if it bothers you. E**

~~§•§~~

**BPOV**

Hmm...Mr. Masen, I would _love_ to come.

But seriously, I wasn't sure I could handle this.

I was stuck at phone call.

I don't call people. Ever. Never have _had_ to. Alice and my mother called me daily (my mother often more than once a day), so...who would I call? Angela?

Nope. I was a strict call-ee.

I guess I could just show up, but somehow that seemed scarier. I mean, there was information I felt I should have before presenting myself for inspection at their door.

In order to collect my thoughts and feel more rational and mature, I decided to make a list...the act of which was, in itself, unprecedented...

1. Would I be expected to bring anything? (Like food? or flowers? or vaccination records?)

2. Would I be expected to talk? At all?

3. Would Edward wear the gloves if I specifically asked him to?

4. Was there a less creepy way for me to ask him to wear them?

5. On the other hand, would I be able to concentrate on eating or conversation if he were wearing them?

6. What is our relationship status?

7. Will Edward expect me to answer question 6?

8. What will I say if Emmett and Rosalie ask me questions? Should I try to answer, or do the hair thing and hope they go away?

Next, I planned out exactly what I would say to Edward. One thing I learned from Alice is that if you plan carefully and then take over, things often go your way.

Clearly, I was not much of a planner, nor a taker-over-er. The thought of doing either of those things made me want to crawl under a boxwood and never come out.

But I realized that if I wrote out exactly what I would say (no need for shame, because who would see me?), and just plowed through my questions, Edward could answer them, and thus do all the heavy lifting, conversation-wise.

So, I carefully edited my initial list and gave him a call.

_"This is Edward Masen."_

"Hi!" I said.

_"Hello? Who is this?"_

Oh, shit.

I stared at my paper...That wasn't on my paper!

I took a breath.

_"Hello?"_

"Bella!" I yelled.

_"Oh!...Heh...I mean, Hi! I'm glad you called. Does this mean you can come to dinner?"_

"Yes."

I took a shaky breath and stuck my nose into my list. Then, I almost dropped the phone when I tried to cover the mouthpiece with the hand that still held the paper because I was positive that Edward could hear it rattling over the line.

Once I re-situated, placing paper on the table, finger keeping my place, I started with: "I have some questions do I need to bring any food or flowers or vaccination records?"

_"Rosalie will be cooking, I'm allergic to pollen and I'm afraid to answer that last one."_

I took that as a _yes_.

"OK," I said. "Do...ahem...uh..." Shit. I couldn't ask about the gloves.

_"What is it?"_

I didn't know what to say. _Goodbye?_ No, that wasn't right. Because I had gone to the trouble of writing up a list and calling him, and we were already on the phone, it seemed a waste to not keep talking, but what in the fuck were we going to talk about?

And what if we blew our thought-wad right here? Then we wouldn't have anything to say on Friday.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

_"Bella? Are you still there?"_

"Yes?"

_Oh fuck, you stupid cow._ Who answers with a question mark? I might as well be a cocktail waitress with bleach blond hair and fake tits.

_"Good."_

Okay.

Now what? Time to put on your big girl panties, Bella!

"Um, Edward?"

_"Yes?"_

"You wanna talk? With me?" Shit. "Now?...or we can just wait—"

_"—No, I'd like to talk now, too, if you are free...and if you want to. I understand if you need to go, or _want_ to go, even."_

"No."

_"Oh, OK. Well, I'll see you Friday, then. It was nice to talk to you, Bella. Good—"_

"—Wait!"

And then there was silence.

Oh...I'm supposed to say something else, I guess...

"Are you there, Edward?"

...

_"Yes."_

"Okay. So, uh...Tell me about Rosalie and Emmett."

I didn't know where that came from. But it seemed like the kind of thing Snooze-Time-Bella would come up with.

_"Oh! Well, they own an outdoor store. It's called _The Outdoor Store_. They are both very nice and easy to talk to, I think. I've never had any trouble, but that may not be helpful for you...um, well you met Emmett."_

"Yes."

_"Well, Rosalie is nice, too. She's not as accommodating as Emmett, but she doesn't make fun, or act mean. She'll just, you know, let you know what she will and won't accept. She won't ask you a lot of questions, though. I've asked them both to let me do that. Is that OK?"_

"Um...what kinds of questions?"

_"Well...Wait...you think I have a list?"_

He has a list?

"Um...Yeah," I said with what could only be described as a bedroom voice. I mimed hitting my head repeatedly with the phone before I realized that Edward was reading.

From the list.

He read the whole thing.

It took a while.

Some of the questions, like: _'Would you mind if I fucked you from behind?'_ and _'Would you be OK with me wearing latex gloves if we have sex?'_ I knew I would never answer in front of...I would never answer out loud (yes and yes). I wasn't sure how keep him from asking them, though, unless I communicated what I wanted right now.

So I said, "Hey, can you not ask me about sex...stuff?"

_"Yes...I'm sorry, Bella, I thought, based on your letters, that it would be OK. Have you changed your mind?"_

"No."

_"Hmm..."_

I heard shuffling papers over the phone.

"Just...don't do it in front of other people...just ask...when we're...um...alone...uh...you know...maybe...uh..._after_ dinner." Wow, I was about to hit a new personal record for words uttered in a single conversation.

_"So, you want to be alone with me?"_

"**Yeah!**...I mean, sure...only if you want to. You know, if you think I'm, uh...clean enough."

What the fuck?

_"OK."_

Now _he_ was being the quiet one.

_"Hey, Bella?"_

"Yeah, Edward?"

_"Let's just worry about dinner, for now, OK?"_

"OK."

_"I've enjoyed talking to you, Bella. Good night."_

"Good night, Edward."

_"I'm hanging up now."_

And then I heard a click.

Well.

That was almost painless.

Then, I almost fainted as the endorphins wore off.

~~§•§~~

**EPOV**

Bella called me.

Her voice was sexy.

I think. Hearing it made me think about fucking her.

She wanted to talk about sex while alone with me...was I ready for that?

I was pretty sure that talking would lead to actual sex. I wasn't positive, though.

I decided to call Emmett.

_"Yo."_

"Hey, Emmett, I have a relationship question."

_"Tell me."_

"Well," I decided not to correct his error... "First, please let Rosalie know that Bella will be coming to dinner tomorrow night."

_"Really."_

"Yes. She just called me."

_"Wait. _**She**_ called you? You didn't call _her_?"_

"No, but I have her phone number on my caller ID, so I could."

_"Do you realize what a big deal this is, Edward?"_

"I think so. I mean, I know she doesn't like to talk. I don't think she's made many phone calls."

_"You are probably right, bro. And if that's the case, that is a very good sign."_

"Yes, about that. She wanted to know what questions I would be asking her tomorrow. I think she wanted to be prepared."

_"Please tell me you didn't read from a list."_

"Do you want me to be dishonest?"

_"Fuck me sideways._ _Really? What possessed you to even _mention_ the list?"_

"Well, she asked."

_"Right. So, what, she said something like, 'Gee Edward, I know you have a list of questions, would you read them to me? That will get me very hot.'"_

"Wow, that's a good paraphrase, but a poor voice imitation...and she didn't use that many words...I think she was hoping I had a list. And she, well, that's where my question comes in."

_"...sorry, Ed. I'm still processing that first bit. She was turned on by the list?"_

"Well, I'm not sure, that's what I wanted to ask you."

_"OK."_

"She had this sound to her voice...I'm not sure how to describe it. It was low and soft and kind of made my neck tingle when I heard it...then she said she wanted me to ask the sex questions when we were alone...and she said _after_ dinner. Do you think that that means she will try to have sex with me after dinner? What should I do?"

_"Huh."_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters**_

**Chapter 9**

**Agent Double-0-Soul**

_I don't carry a pistol (how about a disguise? do you wear a disguise?)_  
_I don't need a false mustache_  
_And you'll never see me carrying around a little black bag (attaché!)_  
_My real name's no secret_  
_But from me, it will never be told_

Excerpt from "Agent Double-0-Soul" by TMBG

**Emmett POV**

_"Hey, Emmett?"_

Oh, shit. What was I going to say?

"Yeah, Buddy."

_"You didn't answer my question."_

Yeah, there's a reason for that Eddo.

"Sorry."

How could I tell him that, _yeah, she totally wants to bang you, dude_, without mind fucking him?

And what was _with_ this chick anyways? She was supposed to be shy. What the fuck was she doing, putting the moves on him? I was gonna need some help with this one. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped down in front of the TV.

"Actually, Ed. I didn't hear your conversation and I don't know what's going on in her head, so I don't really know what to tell you dude..."

_"But you are always telling me how things are without any proof. You are the only person I know who can do that."_

_Goddamn perfect recall!_ Fucker never forgets a bowel movement.

"Well, yeah, I _think_ I know, but this might be one of those things you should figure out on your own, buddy." I took a swig, hoping he would do his figuring on his own time for once.

_"Well, I _don't_ know, personally. But based on things you've told me before, about women, sex, initiating conversations and flirting, it seems likely that she certainly wants to have sex with me...soon."_

Shit. Either Edward is learning how to read people, or he's, like, a really amazing robot that has been so thoroughly programmed that it seems to have human emotions or some shit.

Now for damage control. "Do you think you...you know, can?"

_"Well, I've managed it before. It was awful, of course. But I think this time will be better. Plus, I think she'll be more accommodating than Jessica."_

At least he sees the problem ahead of time.

"Well, we can only hope. But, Ed?"

_"Yes, Emmett?"_

"If she does, you know, want to...and you and she..." Shit, I can't believe I'm going there..."If you do have sex...no matter how it works out, if you have to call me and Rose over to help you, you know, deal with it...could you just do me a _huge_ favor?"

_"Anything." _

"Could you please put some clothes on first?"

_"I'll do my best."_

~~§•§~~

**Rosalie POV**

"She **what**!"

Fucking fuck.

"She wants to have sex with him? I thought you checked her out, Emmett!"

"I did, baby."

"Not good enough." I slammed the pot I was about to use on the counter for emphasis.

"She seriously acted like she could barely tolerate being in the same room with me, and she wouldn't talk hardly at all. Hell, there were, like, five times I thought that she would run away from me. She DID run away from Edward...Twice!"

I didn't want to hear this shit. We finally got the guy out of his apartment more than once a week, and not wearing those freak-ass gloves in public, and eating something other than soup and crackers, _and_ not freaking out when I didn't measure his food...which was a HUGE fucking deal. And _what_ does my brilliant husband do?

Set him up with a bimbo who just wants to fuck him..._Again_!

I pointed my finger at his chest and backed him into a corner, so he knew I was serious.

"You've got to fix this Emmett! You've got to keep her from putting her hands on him. I can't go back to the way things were before."

Then, I turned around and walked away, grabbing the knife from the dish drain and heading to back to the cutting board, which happened to be in Emmett's direction.

He melted into the wall and his hands moved to cover his balls.

I rolled my eyes and started chopping rhubarb.

Somewhat recovered, he continued: "I know, I can't either."

"We spent a year in therapy, you and me, working through all this shit." I said, punctuating every other word with a chop.

"Yep."

"And you said you weren't gonna do this any more. You were going to let him take care of himself."

"But I really thought this girl could be the one to help him get over some shit. Or at least get his head out of his ass...I mean, he seems better, right?"

"Yeah, but he had gotten a little better before Jessica, too."

"Humph. Well, she was impatient...And aggressive...apparently," he said.

"Okay. First things first. You need to get his gun."

"I don't know, Ro. He keeps it locked in his safe."

"No, you have to get him to _give_ it to you. He'll understand why. It's not like he's been carrying it much, and he hasn't brought it in here in almost a year."

He put his hands up in defeat. "Okay, fine. I'll get his gun."

I dumped the rhubarb in the pan and started washing the cutting board and knife. I rolled my eyes at the extra-precaution I was taking, not letting the board sit there after having worked with the poisonous plant. Rhubarb wasn't something I could ever work with when Edward was around.

"And we're gonna need a buffer, Em. Someone to keep her attention away from Edward."

"Ugh, not Jasper again."

"He's married. It's perfect!"

"And you don't think that _that_ could pose a problem?"

"Well, no one _knows_ he's married. And Jasper is even easier to talk to than you. If we bring him into the mix, she might forget about Edward altogether."

"This has blow-up-in-your-face written all over it, you know that, right?" he asked.

"No, babe. This has genius, keep-Edward-from-losing-his-shit written all over it. We're not keeping them apart indefinitely, just...separating them a little bit. You know, cutting the wind from the sails a little."

"Whatever. You better call him before whatever-her-name-is plans his weekend."

~~§•§~~

**Jasper POV**

*ring tone* _She's a brick!...Hoooouse!_

"And then I told him, 'If you think _my_ client is paying one _cent _more than fifty percent, you are _dreaming_—'"

"—Alice," I said.

"Huh?"

"My phone. I need to take this. It's my sister. Unless you want me to have to answer some uncomfortable questions, you need to shut the fuck up, sweetie."

Alice rolled her eyes and crawled under my desk, unbuttoning my pants before I even had time to answer my phone.

"Thanks for fucking with my ring tones again, sis."

Rosalie didn't miss a beat. _"You're welcome! So, how's your balls?" _

Huh? How could she know Alice was licking them?

_"Does she take them out for you to play with occasionally?"_ she continued, impatient for my response.

_Wait. Take a breath, Whitlock, she's just taking a dig at Alice._

"My wife is lovely," Breathe. "Thanks for asking...hey...hang on."

I pulled the phone to my chest, and spoke to Alice, "Do you _have_ to do that right...oh god. Were those your _teeth_?"

I leaned back in the chair and kicked my shoes off. Oh..._Please_ do that again!

I rolled my eyes back in my head. Breathe.

Wait.

_Focus fucker! _

I shook my head and pulled my phone back to my ear, desperately trying to concentrate while overcome with physical sensation.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your...ngh...call?"

_"Can you come to dinner tomorrow night?"_

Oh, yes, right like that. Ungf.

"Isn't that...um...when you..." Fuck! "...meet with Em's...uh...psycho sibling...uh, Edmund, or something?"

_"Edward!"_

"Right, that's what I said."

Almost...there...Jesus, I love it when she swallows the head.

_"It is, but we have a situation. Can you come over early, say, at six? I'll explain everything then."_

I put the phone to my chest, again. "Baby...that feels so fucking nice...ungf...hey, Alice?...Pumpkin?...Fuck...If you don't _stop_, Alice..."

She popped my cock out of her mouth. "What Jasper?"

"I need to help my sister out with family shit tomorrow."

She pushed my chair back away from the desk and crawled out.

"Hmph," she crossed her arms and pouted, "I was going to tie you up all weekend and fuck your brains out!"

Her petulance was cute. I hated to mess with her plans, but I was still on Rose's shit list. Alice could wait a few fucking hours...

"Well, can we just push it back, like, five hours? Get started around ten?"

"Fine, but your ass is going to pay for this," she said, sashaying away from my desk toward the bookshelf in the corner.

Fuck. Her. Ass. I had to look away if I was ever going to finish this conversation and get the rest of my BJ. I swiveled my chair around to face the window.

"Thanks for holding, Ro. That's fine, but my wife is going to have my ass over it, so, you owe me."

"_Well you can just tell her that we weren't happy not to be invited to the wedding!"_

Great, not this again...I held my forehead in one hand, my phone in the other, the beginnings of a headache winding around my skull.

"We didn't have a _wedding_, per se, for the last _fucking_ time: we just signed some paperwork and said some words in front of a very understanding judge. We've got to stay under the radar. We have clients who are divorcing each other. They wouldn't understand how easy it is for us to compartmentalize our relationship. Once we get these last two taken care of, we'll come out of the closet, and you can meet her. Until then, I signed a contract."

I hate having to explain this _every time she __**calls**_. And it's frustrating that I can't tell my own sister anything about my own wife, not even her first name.

I wish I could blame it all on Alice, but that would be too easy. It was actually my own shame about fucking my archenemy that kept me silent in the beginning.

By the time I made peace with the fact that I was crazy in love, Alice put a gag in my mouth (literally and figuratively), and I couldn't tell anyone. Then, she wanted to get married.

I didn't even tell Rose that I _was_ married until she backed me into a corner...with a beautiful blond she was trying to set me up with (she wouldn't believe me when I said I was gay), but that was all I could tell her. I couldn't tell her who, how nor why.

I _definitely_ couldn't tell her that the only other person who knew was Alice's twin, Isabella, who was the only witness we could guarantee would stay silent about it. If I ever did tell Rosalie that piece of information, she would never, _ever_ forgive me for not inviting her to the ceremony.

_"I still don't understand why you couldn't wait a few months,"_ Rose whined.

"IRS."

_"Will I like her?"_

Only if you like smart, beautiful women who don't take shit from anyone...what am I thinking?...They'll be best friends.

"I hope so. She's my life."

_"OK, brother-mine. See you tomorrow at six."_

"Bye." I hung up and spun around, looking for Alice. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Sweetie-pie!" I called out. "I'm off the phone now! And my pants are down! And I'm still hard! You wanna come in here and finish what you started?"

She peered around the doorframe and looked at me impassively.

Then she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, can we move that back a few hours? I have family shit to do."

~~§•§~~

**Bella POV**

Because of all the shit with Alice and Edward, and because she has this painful ability to get me to spill my guts, I decided to avoid her completely on Friday.

I would normally see her at work at least once, when I bring her diaried and req'd files. Most of the time, I could count on her being too busy to chat, but I couldn't take a chance...not when dinner with Edward was at stake.

I can't believe I'm going to have dinner with Edward Masen...and his family...

My chest would tighten at the thought, even as my stomach fluttered in anticipation of a certain conversation we might have _after dinner_.

I had to keep my hand in my pocket, because I was afraid Edward would notice a soggy, gnawed-on thumb, and think I had some kind of communicable disease. Instead, I rapped my fingers in time on the desk and chewed my lower lip, waiting for Mike Newton to show up, so I could put my "Avoid Alice At All Costs" plan into motion.

When he did arrive (late, of course), I, like any lame-o avoidy person, sputtered and spouted utter nonsense for ten minutes before I got him to understand that I wanted to trade my morning file run for his re-filing duties. Then, I left the office for lunch an hour earlier than usual. After that, I made up something about an old file in storage I needed to find (there's always an old file in storage to look for in a law office) and spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out in the back, next to the only window, reading the rest of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ again. I was hoping to glean some of Elizabeth Bennet's fierce confidence for tonight. I wasn't expecting zombies tonight, but as I learned from my extensive farcical reading, it's always good form to be prepared.

Obviously, being prepared helped me avoid Alice, because I was able to make it in and out of the building without ever seeing or hearing from her, which was a first.

By 5:15, I was home, changing my clothes, and congratulating myself on making a plan and succeeding. Then, the phone rang.

It was Alice, I _knew_ it!

I couldn't decide if it would be better to "miss" the call and hear about it later, or just answer and get it over with.

I paced back and forth in front of the phone and in my head while it rang.

_If I answer now, and she forbids me to see him, I'll miss out on dinner!_

_So, what! Tell her off and go anyway!_

_But then she'll find me there, and make a scene, and I'll be embarrassed, and what if she tries to touch Edward? He'll never forgive me for putting him in that situation!_

_Fine, but when are you going to stand up to her, Swan?_

By the time decided _not_ to answer it, it quit ringing.

Of course.

I had never been happier that I never got an answering machine.

~~§•§~~

**Emmett POV**

As usual, Jasper was early. I answered the door. "Hey, Jazzer! How's your wife...what's her name again?"

"Fine, Em. Thanks for asking."

He reached over and gave me a sideways man-hug.

Damn. He never takes the bait!

And even more frustrating, he never gets upset about _anything_! He's just so considerate and...docile. It was hard to imagine him ripping some lawyer a new one over a divorce. Jasper was a hard man to read in general.

"...My sister here?"

"In the kitchen. Hey, thanks for doing this on such short notice. Eddo really likes this girl, and we want it to work out, but on a different timetable."

"Yeah, relationships and apocalypses. I get it," he deadpanned.

"Huh?" Was that weird lawyer humor?

He waved it off with a sweep of fake Japanese flowers.

"I brought wine and flowers. Thought Rose would appreciate a peace offering." He handed both to me and started pulling at his tie to take it off.

"Yeah, those are her favorite. Hey, Ro? Jazz is here, and he brought that wine that makes you horny!"

Still no reaction from Mr. Spock as he rolled up his sleeves, his tie already hanging on the coat tree with his blazer.

Rose came into the foyer wiping her hand on the towel tucked into front of her leggings. "Hey, there! Oh! Are those for me?"

"Yeah. Sorry about the wedding thing...again." They air kissed, but didn't hug. Edward would freak _out_ if he hugged her while she was cooking.

"It's OK, Jasper. I'm not really mad at you. I'm mad at your shrew-wife."

"She would actually like that nickname."

Rose rolled her eyes and turned around, heading back into the kitchen. I pushed passed Jasper, so my ass-view was unimpeded.

"Well, come in here and help me with this food. Edward is already in the kitchen. You'll need to wash your hands a couple of times, and do you mind him standing next to you so he can watch? He'll probably have some, um, suggestions."

Jasper spoke under his breath what sounded like "Kinky."

I put the wine in the fridge and set the overly-priced Japanese silk-flower arrangement on the table...Rose said it was called...hm, something like "icky banana" or some shit. She knew he'd bring flowers. She's super-smart at figuring things out and reading people.

Then, I grabbed a couple beers from the fridge, holding one out to Jasper. "You want one, man?"

Edward came up to us with wide eyes and said, "He can't have a _beer_ if he's helping Rosalie! It's not sanitary to drink and cook!"

Jasper stared at Edward, hands on his hips. Ah,_ there's_ the lawyer-man. He looked like he was sizing him up for a fight. I tensed.

When he finally answered me, he never took his eyes from my brother's. "You know, Em, I'm good for now. Let me just get Rose squared away, and then I'm sure I'll take you up on it."

Then he spoke to the guy he was still staring at: "So, Edward, I hear this lady is special to you."

Edward, of course, had no clue what was going on, just as relaxed as ever...not that he's ever relaxed, but for Edward, he was calm.

"Yes, she is. I think we have a lot in common, but not too much. There's plenty that's different about us...sex organs for one."

"Yeah, that's an important thing to get right," Jasper noted while washing his hands.

"You should use the scrub brush to clean under your fingernails," Edward commanded.

Jasper looked at Rose and then picked up the brush. I went back to the breakfast bar, sat on a stool with my beer and watched Jasper's relaxed response.

"Rose, am I your favorite brother, or _what_?"

"You are my only and favorite brother. And I owe you."

"Damn...straight. OK. I'm done and rinsed. Do these meet with your approval, Ed?"

Edward looked over Jasper's handiwork carefully.

"Yes. You did an excellent job. I appreciate your attention to cleanliness."

"You should tear the lettuce and chop the other veggies for the salad," Rose said.

"On it," Jasper said, picking up the knife on the cutting board. "Have these been washed?"

"Edward washed them three times; once with vinegar," I helpfully replied.

"Great. Now, Rose," Jasper said as he sliced into a tomato, "tell me why, other than my expert slicing skills, I am here tonight." Jasper sounded like those lawyers on TV who already know the answers and they're just waiting for the witness to fuck up so they can nail 'em.

"OK," she said, stepping away from the stove so she could address the entire courtroom, "This girl, is Edward's...help me out here, what are we calling her?"

"Bella," Edward helped.

"Riiiiight, and she's your...girlfriend? friend? pen pal?..."

"I don't know, but I hope to get that cleared up tonight."

And once again, Edward was useless on the witness stand.

"Anyway, Jasper, she's coming over tonight and Edward clearly likes her a lot, but she may want to take things a little further, physically, than he is ready to deal with. We just want to slow things down a little. Maybe find a way for her to, I don't know, reconsider her options, or just some way for her to put sex on hold."

"You don't need me here for that," Jasper observed.

_Oh, no you don't, buddy. You aren't getting out of this so easily. _

I jumped in: "Sure we do, Jazz. The last time we had a girl over here for Edward, she attacked his dick. So, obviously, **_buuuuuurlch_**, we don't know what we're doing." I saw Edward cup his mouth and double over, probably holding in puke.

"Did Edward ask her _not_ to?" Jasper asked me, while seeming to not even notice Edward's retching.

"No. I didn't," Edward said through his hand. He was clearly having trouble holding his shit together. "She promised me that I would like it very much. Because I like touching my penis, I rationalized that I would enjoy her touching it, too. Only I didn't." Then, he shook his head, as if that would help him shake off the nausea, blinked a couple times, and straightened up.

"Sounds like Edward is the one with the problem." What a douche. Jasper always says the obvious thing like he's figured out the whole goddamn puzzle.

"You're not wrong..." Rose said. "But we just don't know how to deal with him and her at the same time."

"What's _her_ deal?" Jasper asked, finally getting to the real problem.

"Shit, where to begin," I said, setting my empty beer bottle down and dry washing my face. "So, she follows Eddy-boy to this party. He bumps into her, she freaks out and runs away, but not before giving him her full name. So, then he gets her address somehow and writes to her twice, and then, heh, get this...her fucking _sister_ gets a restraining order...on _Edward_!"

Jasper stopped chopping and looked straight ahead. He seemed to be a little green himself.

"Hey, man, are you OK?" I asked.

Rose looked at him sideways, but didn't say anything.

"Huh? Yeah. I'm just lawyering," he said, pointing the knife to his head, "So, if she got a restraining order on you," pointing the knife at Ed, "how come she's coming here tonight?"

"Excellent question," Edward jumped in. "Although, I'm surprised you didn't ask why Bella's sister was legally allowed to get a restraining order on her behalf."

"Yeah. Of course. I just hadn't gotten to that yet...Here, why don't you tell me everything, Edward."

Jasper was definitely thrown about...what? Maybe he was worried that he was going to be asked to defend Edward if there was a lawsuit, or something.

Hey, that wasn't a bad idea...

"Her sister had her sign a power of attorney, which she used to get the restraining order. But when Bella found out about it, she was not pleased. Apparently, her sister intercepted the second letter."

"That was Eddy's apology for the weirdness of the first letter," I said.

"Huh. Interesting. So, she just popped over to the police station all by herself and took care of it?"

Edward looked at Jasper, eyes crinkled like he was about to hack a password.

"Yes. _Rather_...You seem surprised that she did it on her own. Why did you think she wouldn't?"

"Heh. Why would I think...? Of course I knew..._that_..." he said defensively. "I mean, she signed over power of attorney. She's obviously the kind of person who isn't used to taking care of things herself."

Jasper knows something. He's never looked so...affected, by anything. What is it he's holding back?

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

Edward didn't notice the change in Jasper's mood, which wasn't a much of a surprise. Edward could rationalize anything.

I grabbed another beer from the fridge.

"Well, Edward, I'm an attorney, so I know all about these things. It's no big deal, really. Don't feel bad."

"Oh, I don't. Anyway, we've been writing each other for a couple of weeks, and this will be the first time we've seen each other since we met!"

"Well, it will be an interesting night, that is for certain. But let me put your mind at ease, Edward. I can guarantee you that this, Bella, is it? Will not attempt to get you alone tonight. I'll help you out in any way that I can."

I popped the cap off the beer and took a swig to clear my thoughts.

Something's going on, but what? I stared at Rose, hoping she would help me out, but she wouldn't even look at me. She was just stirring the pot in front of her like it was the most important job on Planet Earth.

But before I could get too worked up about my wife's and Jasper's weirdness, my brother started his own.

"Wow, Jasper. Thanks! I..."

Edward had pulled his hand out of his pocket, and he looked like he was offering it for Jasper to shake.

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at the un-gloved hand between the two of them.

Jasper slowly put the knife down and turned to face Edward. Then, Jasper offered his hand back.

I stood up from the stool, slowly.

"My hands are clean. You can shake it if you want to."

I stayed still, too afraid any movement would freak him out and just watched, stunned, as my little brother, who I'd never seen willingly take _anyone's_ hand in his own, brought his forward, sliding it slowly into Jasper's.

_Whoa._

And then Jasper, already back to his inhumanly docile self, patiently waited for Edward to grip his hand before he did the same.

Then, Jasper let go and turned back to the vegetables, like it had been no big deal.

_"__**Wait!**__"_

**A/N: *And THAT, dear readers, is why Emmett is not allowed to write this story...*buuuuur-ehlch!* **

**Can I just say that I LOVE Emmett? As a wingman and peanut gallery commentator, there IS no better character to "tell it like it is" or "keep it real."**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 10**

**She's an Angel**

_Why did they send her over anyone else?_

_How should I react?_

_These things happen to other people_

_They don't happen at all, in fact._

Excerpt from "She's an Angel" by TMBG

**_Still_**** Emmett POV**

I ran around the counter, ready to jump in between them, while Jasper put his hands up, as though Edward were a cop. Rose backed away from the scene toward the door.

Edward was heaving, sweat pouring down the side of his face. Everyone was still.

"I..." Edward paused for a moment. "I _think_ my hands are clean, but I think we should both wash our hands...to be safe. I'd feel better if you would...OK?"

Jasper smiled and nodded. They washed their hands at the sink together, like they did it every day. I went back to my perch on the stool and Rose went back to the stove.

She and I stared at each other across the room once Jasper went back to cutting vegetables and Edward went back to his place next to the bar, where he could supervise.

She smiled at me, and I winked at her.

~~§•§~~

**BELLA POV (a few minutes later...)**

When I got to Edward's building I was a sweaty, nervous mess. I would be outnumbered by strangers in a social setting. This was a really bad idea.

But here's the thing. I felt like Edward was worth it. And hadn't the man gone way out of his comfort zone for me?

...And, I suppose that Emmett wasn't a stranger, exactly.

I reached for the call button, but my outstretched pointer finger curled back into my fist just before contact, as I tried to get my shaking under control.

My fist found its way into my coat pocket, fingering the immunization record neatly folded in its depths. It had been easier to obtain than I thought it would be.

I had called the doctor's office myself. I had written out what I wanted to say and I only had to repeat it once over the phone. They faxed it over to the Records Department at Brandon and Brown. Easy.

I pulled it out and unfolded the paper, gripping it like a talisman in one hand, while I quickly pressed the black circle next to their apartment number with the other.

A man (probably Emmett) yelled, "Come on up!" and buzzed me in.

I climbed the stairs carefully, remembering that this building was new to me, and therefore the steps perilous.

I paused once more at the door. Then, I knocked.

And waited.

I heard a hissing noise on the other side of the door.

Then, I waited some more.

When it finally opened, I expected to see Frankenstein's Monster on the other side, so I was looking up and right over the head of the actual answerer...

...who was Edward, sans latex gloves. Smug look on his face...

...the smell of Lysol in the air.

"Hi, Bella," he said. "Would you please come in?"

I held up my immunization record for him to see. His eyes darkened with desire, and his lips pulled up on one side. He looked at the record carefully, but didn't offer to take it. Then he stepped back to give me room to come in.

"I would offer to take your coat, but..."

"Gloves?" I asked, hoping he would put them back on.

"Oh...well, I didn't think you'd want me to wear them, so I left them at home."

"Oh," disappointment evident in my voice.

"I can go and get them, if you'd really like for me to take your coat."

I didn't want to come off as too eager, so I shrugged.

He looked confused.

Then he stepped closer to me, so close I could feel his body heat. He avoided eye contact and instead stared at my right ear towards which he was leaning, and spoke in a low, almost growl-y, voice, "I don't know what to do, Bella. I know you feel uncomfortable talking, and I don't want to _make_ you talk, but I don't want to do the wrong thing, either...I..."

He seemed to struggle with his thoughts, then he took a breath, stepped back, brow furrowed, and clinched his fists. He shook his head and commanded me: "Turn around."

I did and felt his hands on top of my hair covering my shoulders across the back of my coat.

He pulled my hair together in his hands, sweeping it around to the front. Then, he tugged the coat off my shoulders. I turned back around.

He was holding it away from his body gingerly with just his fingers. With his arms raised, I could see the marks on his shirt, showing he was nervous like me.

I understood on an instinctive level exactly how hard that had been for him to put his bare hands on me. My entire body had broken out with goose bumps.

It was unexpected and sensual. Surprisingly so, even without the gloves, and I hoped it was a silent promise of things to come.

He hung it on the coat rack by the door, and said, "Please excuse me, I need to wash my hands. Everyone is in the kitchen if you want to go ahead and go in. I'll meet you in there in just a moment."

I still had my immunization record, now wadded and torn, in my hand. I tucked it into my coat pocket and headed for the kitchen.

Emmett met me at the door. "Hey, Bella!" He said with that easy, compassionate smile. "This is my wife, Rosalie."

A beautiful bombshell with yoga feet, wearing leggings and a tank top, turned from the stove and smiled at me.

"Bella, it's so nice to finally meet you. Edward asked me not to shake your hand, so..."

"It's OK." I managed to say. I smiled back and waved, in what I hoped was a genuine, nice-to-meet-you, kind of way.

"And this," she said, "is my brother—"

"—Jasper Whitlock," said my sister's husband before Rosalie could finish the introduction. He shook my hand and looked at me in that intimidating way he has, directly in the eyes, just daring me to say something. "It's nice to meet you..._Bella_."

I was confused.

I was horrified.

But also confused.

And _definitely_ horrified.

If Jasper was Rosalie's brother, and he was here...and _I _was here...did that mean that Rosalie and Emmett and Edward know about their marriage?

Surely Jasper wouldn't go behind Alice's back and tell them.

But she would have no way to know that they knew, because she had no idea who Jasper's family was; that was Jasper's addition to the contract. If he couldn't tell his family, then Alice couldn't go snooping...of course, if Jasper broke his end, all bets were off.

As I considered all of these things, I looked nervously from Jasper to Rosalie and back...hoping for some kind of clarification.

Rosalie sensed the tension.

"Hey, Bella, I'm sorry. I _know_ this is unexpected. I never get to see Jasper anymore, and I thought, since it was a family dinner, we could all get together. He's totally cool, right Jazz?"

"Yeah. I'm cool," he said pointedly.

So...what the _fuck_ did that mean?

And what about Alice? There's no way she could possibly know that it was her husband's brother-in-law's brother who was the recipient of the restraining order.

Fuck. My. Life...which was suddenly more complicated than I'd like.

Okay, _act normal, Bella_. Somehow, I needed to communicate to Jasper that it was in everyone's best interest for Alice not to find out about any of this...but before I could fully formulate my plan, I was interrupted...

"Hey, Bella!"

"**What!**" I yelled defensively.

Emmett had called me from the fridge, "Uhhh...you want a beer?"

Embarrassed at my overreaction, I shook my head no. "Water?" I managed to croak out of my bone-dry throat.

"You sure? We got wine."

"That's not a good idea," Jasper said to Emmett, out of the side of his mouth like a subpar ventriloquist.

"Riiiiight...you...uh, probably don't drink at all, huh?" he said to me.

Fuck. What now? Why did they think my drinking alcohol was a _bad_ idea? Were they trying to manipulate me into doing something?

I stared at Emmett and then Jasper, then back to Emmett, trying to understand their game.

No, drinking meant no inhibition, and no inhibition meant possible sex with Edward. Shit, they were trying to _keep_ me from doing a (hopefully) kinky something with Edward.

Well, fuck that. I wasn't playing this stupid game. I have my own plans that will only be assisted by drinking!

"Wine...sounds great," I finally said, and raised my eyebrow at Jasper.

His cucumber coolness seemingly unaffected, he stepped back and pulled out a bar stool for me.

Of course. He knows I'm clumsy and short. If I fall off the thing, no hanky-panky. No way I'm gonna sit on that deathtrap.

"She shouldn't sit on a stool, Jasper," Edward said having slipped silently into the room.

"Bella, would you like to sit at the table next to me?" He gestured to the table with a latex covered hand.

I blushed.

"Fuck." Emmett said.

I hid behind my hair and stole a glance at Emmett...How could he know about my fetish? Not even Alice knew about it.

"Bella?" Edward asked. I wasn't sure if he was checking to make sure I was Okay, or if he was...oh, he wanted a response.

"Okay," I finally said, unable to keep from grinning like a loon.

I chanced a glance at Jasper to gauge his reaction, as Edward pushed my seat in.

He seemed incomprehensibly pleased.

Edward took the seat next to me and Emmett placed the glass of white wine on the table. Then, I felt more than saw everyone's eyes on me. I immediately wanted to hide in my hair again.

"Stop it!" Edward said. I looked over at him and he was shaking his head violently. I turned to see that everyone had stopped looking at me and seemed to be intently checking out the food on the stove, crumbs on the counter, or in Emmett's case, his iPhone.

I looked at Edward again. He was still staring at me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said back. I liked looking at him, and somehow, despite the humiliating blush it caused, I liked him looking at me.

I don't know how long we sat there, Edward watching me, and me glancing to see if he was watching me, but suddenly Rosalie called, "Dinner is ready!" and Edward jumped up and stood behind my chair, pulling it out for me to get up.

The Hales served dinner buffet style with salad, clam chowder and tilapia with twice-baked potatoes. A simple, informal meal.

Edward went first, telling me that Rosalie's were the only clams he would ever consider eating and only then if he was first in line.

Emmett laughed so hard he had tears running down his cheeks.

I blushed again, although, it wasn't funny, nor embarrassing to me.

Once we were all seated, Edward started digging in, gloves removed. Even though I was totally turned on by them, I was glad he took them off during the meal.

I took a sip of wine, and prepared to be bombarded with questions from Edward. I had practiced my answers, so I felt confident that I would be able to answer all of them with minimal hesitation.

I stared at him, waiting for him to ask, when I was hit upside the head with a question from Jasper.

"So, Bella, I heard that your sister had a restraining order put against Edward, but then _you_ had it removed. If you don't mind my asking, how did your sister take that news? I can't imagine she'd like it very much."

I considered crawling under the table and giving Edward a blowjob. That act would be ten times _less_ embarrassing than the fallout that was waiting at the end of the answer I was about to give.

"Actually," Edward said, quickly swallowing a bite so he could jump in, "I promised Bella that no one else would ask her questions except for me, tonight. And I already read her the list of questions and that one wasn't on it. I figured it was the least I could do to help her out with this evening." He smiled at me.

If I had had any sanitary stickers on me, I would have given him a gold star.

"Really," Jasper said, amused. "Well, please accept my apology, Bella. I had no idea. I certainly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my questions. I just wanted to know what to...expect...out of all of this. I mean...a sister who would go behind your back like that, well, she probably wouldn't like you removing the restraining order. You should be very careful."

I couldn't speak. And I'm pretty sure my mouth was open. My tongue was dry...but I suppose that didn't signify anything special.

Luckily, Edward was never at a loss for words.

"I'm sure that if Bella's sister really has her interest in mind, she will respect Bella's wishes. I know that I can count on Emmett to always support me, even if he disagrees."

"Within reason," Rosalie added.

"And what if your sister...I'm sorry, what was her name?" Jasper said, effectively answering my lingering question.

"Alice," I said, playing along. So, it _is_ a secret between me and Jasper...Okay...so...who has leverage over whom in this situation?

"Alice. Pretty name. What if Alice felt like it was unreasonable for you to remove the restraining order? What I mean to say is that we, his family, know that he doesn't pose a risk to you, but clearly _she_ thought that he did. Do you not think that she might find it unreasonable that you would remove it?"

Again, I was mute, trying to figure out his game.

Again, Edward came to my rescue. "Well, isn't that irrelevant? What can she actually do?"

This constant white-hat routine was both annoying and relieving. I wonder if Elizabeth Bennet ever felt like that.

Oh. Everyone was looking at me again.

"I...have hobbies..."

And Edward, who couldn't be more of a boy scout if he had a red cape and tights, followed my lead. "Yes! I remember you said you like reading. Is there anything else that you enjoy? I'm very interested. I hope we share some common diversions, although, Emmett tells me that couples often end up discovering activities that they enjoy together but wouldn't normally engage in alone. He used dancing as an example, but I think we can all agree that that activity wouldn't suit either of us, right?"

What would have normally embarrassed the holy hell out of me, was, in this context, endearing. Edward was completely sincere. His intention was not to shame or humiliate, at all.

I nodded. I was prepared for this. "I like watching certain shows...Television shows. Dexter, Weeds...I also like writing in my journal and watching people."

I glanced at Jasper. No doubt he knew of none of this about me. I guess he was getting to know the real me...completely un-Alice-filtered...how fun for him.

Edward beamed at me, while Emmett and Rose tried not to pay attention.

Then, Edward said, "I don't ever watch television...Dexter, hmmm. That's Latin meaning right, right handed or skillful...now _that_ sounds interesting, but why anyone would want to watch grass grow is beyond me...but I would love for you to introduce me to all your favorite shows. Would you do that?"

"OK." Edward was fast learning how to toss fat citrus fruit.

"Maybe you can write to me and tell me about how you like to watch people. I don't think I've ever engaged in that activity, but I can see how it might be interesting."

"OK."

"I'll let you get back to your food," he noticed that I hadn't taken a single bite.

Then, turning to his sister he said, "This is very good chowder, Rosalie."

"Thank you. I got the recipe from last month's _Gourmet_. Most of the ingredients are local and fresh. The clams, of course, and the cream, too."

She smiled and was clearly proud of her work, and charmed by Edward's appraisal.

Edward continued: "Rosalie loves to cook, Bella, and I have only recently allowed myself the privilege of enjoying it. She has been gracious and allowed me to advise her on personal hygiene in the kitchen."

I snorted and glanced at Rosalie.

"I know," she rolled her eyes, "but he doesn't mean it like that."

"Like what?" Edward asked.

Everyone looked intently at their plates.

"Like, girly parts, Ed," Emmett clarified for Edward what no one else had the nerve to say.

"What does that have to do with the kitchen?"

"Well, I for one had no idea tilapia could taste so good. What is this flavor, Rose?" Jasper asked the cook.

"Fresh dill," she said.

~~§•§~~

The conversation continued, mostly without me having to do more than answer in one or two words. Jasper didn't bring up Alice again, so I presumed that we were in agreement that she not be told about this evening...or at least that she shouldn't be told that we were in the same room together with Jasper's family...no doubt _that_ piece of information would not be well received.

Edward didn't get to ask me very many of the questions on his list, because as the evening wore on, he spent more time staring at my face than speaking. Emmett and Jasper called him out on his inattention to the group conversation several times, which revolved around sports, cars and hiking. They rarely included me, and only to be polite, I was sure. They only asked Edward statistical questions and he repeatedly waved them off.

And went back to staring at me.

I know it should have been a bit creepy, but coming from Edward, it just wasn't. I was getting the impression that he was the kind of guy who looked at whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And right now, he wanted to look at me.

If I had been as brave as he was, I would be staring right back. Instead, I stared at my plate or ventured a glance at the others from time to time.

Finally, after Emmett raised his voice to get Edward's attention a third time, my date briefly made eye contact with his brother then turned to me and said, "Would you like to come back to my place, now?"

However, instead saying, "Hells yeah!" like I wanted to, I looked up at Jasper...and he looked at me...and I didn't say anything to Edward.

An awkward silence followed.

Then the man of my dreams looked away from my face, following my line of sight and asked, "Why are you and Jasper looking at each other?"


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 11**

**Stormy Pinkness**

_The things we cherish are small indeed _

_So much greater the need _

_Stormy pinkness _

_Set me thanklessly free_

Excerpt from "Stormy Pinkness" by TMBG

**Jasper POV**

I couldn't look away from Bella, because that would make me look guilty. But I was very tempted to look at my sister, who had not called me out on any of my tells this evening. Now would be the perfect time for her to speak up. Only she didn't.

Bella, of course, wasn't speaking, either. So here I was, forced to explain...something.

Edward would be easily dealt with. Like many overly logical people, he could be swayed by any well-reasoned argument, even if it was unlikely to resemble actual human behavior.

Emmett, too, must sense something, but he wasn't the sweetest sucker on the Dum-Dum truck, so he, too, could be fairly well managed.

Rosalie, of course, was another matter. She was the wild card...and all of this was further complicated by Bella's ineptitude at conversation.

What to say?

"Jasper and Alice work together and I'm afraid he'll tell her I lifted the restraining order!" Bella blurted.

The woman can't put three words together without pausing, clearing her throat, or stumbling, but put her up against the wall, and...who knew?

"Work together, eh?" Rosalie finally showed her hand. "Is that what the kids are calling it on the street these days, Jasper?"

"Huh?" Emmett said.

I kept my poker face firmly attached and replied to Emmett with what was essentially common knowledge, "Alice often reps the separated spouses of my clients. Saying 'we work together' is, I agree, Rose, not a truthful explanation of our interaction. I would say we parry on opposites sides of the argument."

"OK. If that's what you're going with..." she replied. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I would have to deal with her and soon.

"But Bella is right," I continued. "We've met. To be honest, I wasn't sure that she was Alice's sister until she told me her name. I thought I recognized you from..." I tapped my pointer finger on my lips, seemingly trying to pull the event in which we were introduced out of thin air.

"Court," Bella helped.

"Files," she added, rolling her eyes for emphasis.

"Yes, that was it. Thank you for reminding me. Although, because Alice and I are mortal enemies in the court room, your secret is safe with me, Bella."

I liked using this nickname that I was pretty positive no one outside this room had ever used for her. She smiled smugly every time someone said it. Was it yet another secret wish fulfilled since meeting Edward Masen? How was he able to bring her out of her shell, I had no clue, but I had a feeling that finding out would be a lot of fun.

And I was completely honest when I told her I wouldn't out her to my wife, and perhaps, when it was time for her to come clean, I could help lessen the blow somehow. After all, I was now complicit in this...whatever it was.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin while discreetly stealing a glance at my sister. She looked me in the eyes and met my coolness with icy precision. I sometimes forgot we were alike in that way.

Edward took this moment to get back on track. "Well, that's settled. Thank you for your discretion, Jasper. Bella needs all the sympathetic friends she can get when it comes to Alice, I think." He gave me a 'man-to-man' nod, and I returned it.

"Well, no need to hang out here on my account, then, right?" I said smiling to the weird and horny couple.

Edward wasted no time slipping on his gloves, "I'll go get your coat."

I wondered why Bella looked wistful when he did that. What a weird duck.

Whatever fears Rose and Em had about Bella and Edward were not about to be thwarted by any intervention on my part, so I saw no reason to keep them here when they both clearly wanted to go.

Hmm, on second thought, maybe I should pull Bella aside while Edward was grabbing her coat. Wait. Why was he grabbing her coat to cross the hall? I'm sure, if pressed, Edward could rationalize it...but I wasn't about to step into that crazy-hole.

"Bella, I need to talk to you about Edward. Would you come into the den with me?" I whispered to her.

She nodded.

I led her to the room and slid the doors closed behind us.

"I don't know what Edward has told you about himself, and while I certainly don't want to get in the middle of anything or make you upset or embarrassed, I think there's something you need to know about him before you leave here."

She stared. And blinked.

I decided to continue.

"He's had sex before. I don't know all the details, but I remember that after it happened, Rose was running the store by herself for over six weeks because Emmett couldn't leave Edward's apartment...Bella, he was on suicide watch at home."

Bella stared at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I needed to wrap this up quickly; I don't do tears. Luckily, for me, Alice's were always fake, and I actually found _those_ quite humorous.

"I'm not telling you not to do anything with him...just...follow his lead. Be careful...wrong choice of words I guess, but, you know..."

She nodded.

"Yeah. I guess you really do. OK, little sis-in-law. Have fun." I patted her head, hesitated, and then gave her a hug. She relaxed in my embrace.

Suddenly feeling like the moment was loaded with as much seriousness as it could handle, I broke the hug and the tension. Wagging my finger at her like a parent would, I said, "Don't stay out too late, and call if you need a ride."

She snickered.

"Well, don't do the last part. Call a cab." And then I made like I was going to fish out a twenty, and she rolled her eyes and left the room.

Edward was waiting in the foyer with her coat held in his latex-covered hands. I saw the hair rise on Bella's arms as she spied the rubber material.

Fuck. She was totally into latex...must run in the family...

It might have been a little creepy, but I suddenly wished I could be a fly on the wall for what was about to happen between those two. Just out of kinky curiosity.

.

..

...

...

...

...

...

..

.

~~§•§~~

**FLY ON the WALL POV**

Edward and Bella left the relative safety of Rosalie and Emmett's home and crossed the hall into the unknown.

Both were sweaty, like teenagers about to embark on an illicit adventure in the back of Daddy's car...as long as said car was covered in latex and plastic, with medical grade ventilation and a large box of condoms...just in case.

Edward was nervous about germs and something he knew of only in theory: premature ejaculation.

Bella was nervous about the fact that the lighting in his apartment was bright...she also briefly worried about premature ejaculation.

Even though it meant that any interaction would be seriously waylaid (bad choice of words)...delayed...no, not any better...fuck. Let's just say that these two were not likely to actually GET laid at all this evening without the time-consuming use of protective gear. This fact threatened to slow the process, but hardly diluted the UST poisoning.

Edward took her coat off again. Both inwardly realized how silly it was that Edward took the trouble to put it on her in the first place if they were only crossing the hall, but common sense wasn't wasted on these two. Not even a little.

Edward awkwardly offered her tea, which she declined.

He could see a fierce determination on her face that belied the extreme fear of judgment brewing beneath.

She suggested they sit down to talk...well, actually, she gestured to a sofa that looked like it would be more at home in a shrink's office than said shrink's patient and said, "Wanna talk?"

Both knew that there would be very little talking. Bella because she had no intention of doing so, and Edward because he was dealing with a new and insistent obsession: seeing Bella naked as soon as possible.

Edward offered her his favorite chair, a swanky leather lounge that cozied up to an equally swanky ottoman. He took the psycho-sofa.

She was only a little disappointed that they weren't sitting together. In her experience, it was a lot easier to start making out if both were seated side-by-side...but perhaps she was getting ahead of herself.

Edward took off his gloves, which caused temporary feelings of dejection on her part...but when he proceeded to procure a fresh pair from a box he kept in a drawer under the bench in front of the sofa, Bella bit her lip and fidgeted with her hands in her lap, looking longingly at Edward.

The UST went from poisonous to deadly in a flash.

Eyes dilated, Edward clapped the lights out in the living room and crawled across the ottoman to cup her face. He wasn't about to kiss her, but he _needed_ to touch her as soon as possible.

Bella threw her head back, baring her neck and reveled in the feel of latex, which may surprise most people to know is quite slippery if only a little pressure is applied. She sat on her hands to keep from grabbing his hands or his dick, she couldn't choose which.

As his hands ghosted over her from chin to neck and then achingly slowly to cup her breasts, Bella moaned. This sound created a feeling in Edward that was so strong, it momentarily trumped his OCD.

Pulling her to the edge of the chair, he leaned in, one hand resting on the outside of her upper thigh, teasingly close to her ass, the other anchored to her breast.

He kissed the top of the cupped breast over her shirt, eliciting an even louder response. Then, he moved his hands to the highest buttoned button on her shirt, looking at her intently for permission to proceed.

She nodded, mouth agape, and he deftly opened her shirt, exposing her bra: black lace, see-through.

Edward now had a fetish to call his own.

Suddenly aware of the absence of her hands on _him_, he reached over to the box of gloves on the coffee table, offering her a pair.

She didn't need him to tell her what to do. She donned them as adroitly as he did, wasting no time in divesting him of his own shirt.

His chest had clearly never seen the light of day, and even in this low light, it's almost gray pallor was a contrast to the creamy rosiness of her own skin...and the yellow-beige of the gloves.

She ran her hands down his chest, her thumbs grazing his nipples. She was expecting him to hiss or moan. Only he didn't.

Instead, Edward silently but quickly grabbed each of her wrists in his gloved hands, jerking her up from the chair. Because he was still kneeling on the ottoman, she was now face-to-face with him.

"Bella, I want to do a lot of things with you right now that I don't fully understand...with my..." he took a ragged breath and licked his lips with an incomprehensibly dry tongue, "with my mouth..." Bella whimpered..."Please don't worry. I won't do anything to disrespect you...and I'm not sure what I _can_ handle. All I know for certain is that I don't want this to end...between us...Will you...can you tell me what to do next, please?"

Bella looked at him with terror and arousal, but she managed a most important word: "Strip."

He did. With a quickness and efficiency that spun her head a little.

He looked at her. Naked. Unashamed. Cock pointing at her intimidatingly and said, "Your turn."

She crawled clumsily over the ottoman to stand in front of him. He stepped back so he could watch her.

Perhaps it was the dimness of the room, lit only by the light in the foyer, which gave Bella the confidence to remove her pants. Or maybe it was the aching _want_ that eclipsed any other considerations. Whatever the reason, once her pants were in a pile on a floor, she stood tall, showing Edward the black, see-through, lace panties which matched the bra he already (clearly) admired.

_Now_ he hissed, noticing a lack of hair, where hair should be under the lace of those panties.

His mouth filled with saliva; Edward called out, "you were _aroused_!" when he finally realized _why_ she had been drooling when they met.

Bella giggled.

She felt comfortable with Edward, more than with anyone else she'd seen naked, but she was still a little hesitant to finish undressing. And yet, here he was, sporting his birthday suit as if he wore it daily and in public. Even with his confidence, Bella felt a little bad about leaving him starkers while she clung to bits of useless fabric.

So, without ceremony, or even a little grace, she unhooked her bra, while he watched like he was learning something new...or possibly memorizing for playback later. His cock twitched and grew imperceptibly harder when her nipples were fully in view. He started to move toward her, but checked himself.

She had to lean forward to get her panties off and in her clumsiness fell forward, face planting into Edward's crotch. She managed not to hit the head squarely, but her lips did inadvertently brush his length as she fell...well, she might have aimed a _little_.

Edward cried out at her touch, and backed away. He fell to the couch, while she remained tangled in her panties on the floor.

He stared at her, chest heaving, cock twitching, eyes wide with fear.

She didn't move nor break their gaze.

He finally spoke: "I...I don't think you should touch me anymore tonight...I mean, I want you to...touch me...very much. But I'm afraid of..." He looked at his cock like it was about to grow a second head. Seemingly satisfied that it wouldn't, he looked back up at her, and reached out with his gloved hands to help her up from the floor.

Eyes trailing from her face downward, Edward noticed that she was indeed completely shaved. He let go of her hand, collapsing on the couch, eyes focused on the emerging wet pink of her engorged clit. "Leave the panties off," he said, eyes bugged out, a hand gesturing and commanding exactly where she should said underwear as he spoke.

Owning some deeply seeded dominance he continued: "Move that goddamn ottoman out of the way, get on the chair, feet on the edge. Spread your legs and touch yourself the way you want me to touch you. I'll learn what you like, and one day soon, Bella Swan, when we're both ready, I _promise_ I'll put my hands on you and make you come, myself."

What with the latex, and the shared nakedness, Bella needed no further exhortation to do exactly as he said.

While she ran her hands inside her thighs, working her way inward, Edward's eyes took in everything.

He began stroking his cock...seemingly absentmindedly at first, but with growing insistence as her well-disciplined fingers found her clit.

Bella, too, was infatuated with his cock, straight and well proportioned. Her mouth watered. Edward noticed, but wasn't worried anymore.

Watching, learning what felt good by sight and sound alone, they mirrored each other's pace; Bella rubbing her clit and finger fucking herself, Edward, with a leg thrown over an arm of the couch, tugged and squeezed and stroked with one hand, and fondled his balls with the other.

The room was silent except for the wet skin noises and the occasional grunt from Edward and throaty moan from Bella.

Finally, once both were glistening with sweat and other fluids, the rhythm of their shared-self-love-making reaching a glorious presto, Bella screamed, "_**Fuck!**_" prompting Edward to shoot a thick stream of semen up his belly. He retched and reached for a box of tissues in the coffee table drawer.

Bella just sat back, head lolling to the side, still spread open, face serene.

She had never said a curse-word out loud before. She had never made any noise _that _loud before...

Edward had never come without a condom on before...well, except in the shower. His semen was even more disgusting than he had imagined it would be.

Although he knew, intellectually, that it was his own fluids, and there was no threat of contamination, the sensation of the sticky fluid on his body (particularly without the presence of soap), was too much for him to handle.

Head down and focused again on his OCD, he ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Bella considered asking if she could join him, but she was too busy enjoying her post-orgasmic high.

Plus, she knew it was unlikely that he would consent.

~~§•§~~

**EDWARD POV**

As I was about to enter the shower, smeared and dried semen starting to cause my skin to itch, I hesitated. Once I got in, I would not only wash away this ejaculate, but also Bella's touch. I found that, when it came to her...sex with her...I had new, buried instincts that pushed heavily against everything I believed about germs.

I rather _wanted_ her germs...or at least, I wanted to be in that place between her legs, where I had always known the worst germs—STD germs—resided. It wasn't a feeling I'd experienced before.

Bella, she was shiny, pink, devoid of any place for disgusting crustaceans and other microscopic entities to hide. I never wanted to wash her scent from me. I wanted it in my nose and on my body always. And why not? She was beautiful and clean, glistening and slick and oh, fuck, I was hard again.

I resisted the urge to masturbate in the shower, and instead wondered about what was going through my head. It made no sense at all intellectually, and _that_ scared me more than anything ever had in my life.

Over the sound of the shower, I thought I heard her giggling...the sound was high-pitched, but soft. It made me unimaginably happy.

I soaped up once, and decided that I wouldn't worry about whether or not the loss of Bella's fluids was a good or bad thing. I had a more pressing matter: the woman in question, still presumably naked in my living room...


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 12**

**If I Wasn't Shy**

_If I wasn't shy_  
_If I wasn't shy_  
_I'd ask you, if you don't mind_  
_To kiss you a hundred times_  
_If I wasn't shy_  
_If I wasn't shy_  
Excerpt from "If I Wasn't Shy" by TMBG

**BELLA POV**

This was the part of the date when I gathered my clothes (dressing as quickly as possible) and sneaked out the door.

But I really didn't give a shit about what I normally do, or even what I was _supposed_ to do. If Alice came in the door this moment, I would laugh at her while she yelled at me. Just the thought of a scene like that caused me to laugh out loud.

It was only a giggle, but with Edward's bare walls, the sound reverberated.

I started to cover my mouth shamefully, but didn't. Instead, I lolled over to the couch and snuggled into the spot where Edward's ass had been just moments before.

His fine, toned, _naked_ ass.

I could smell sex (and latex) in the air. I worried for a moment that my laying here on his couch, and more importantly having helped create this smell, would be upsetting to Edward when he returned from the shower. But I knew there was nothing I could do short of getting the hell out of there, which I had absolutely no intention of doing.

And yes, I totally shaved my cooch. I didn't know much about OCD, but I was willing to bet that the less hair down there, the better, so I tempted fate and got rid of it all.

I considered waxing...but let's get real: this Bella could never say the words: "wax it all, yes..._every_ hair...yes, even my asshole"...which I understand is de rigueur; "Brazilian" not always being sufficient to get the level of removal one may want...and then there would be the hair removal itself, and I wasn't sure I could handle the pain or the humiliation.

Edward seemed to like my efforts, so I smiled inwardly at my success.

Although I was now comfortable with my nakedness (coming, spread open in front of someone will do that to you), it did seem like good form to at least put my underwear back on.

I rolled my ass-framing panties up each leg, lifting from the couch just enough to slip them over the bump. My bra was more difficult. I was certain it was twisted somewhere as I clasped it on.

Exhausted from post-orgasm dressing, I flopped back down, rolling onto my back.

From this vantage point, I surveyed Edward's living room. There were no pictures, knickknacks nor anything without a clear purpose. There was a couch, a chair and ottoman, a weird bench, a floor lamp made out of a surveyor's tripod, and a medium-sized bookcase filled with what appeared to be computer parts. Everything was in containers or binders, behind sliding glass doors. I squinted, and noticed an alphabetical pattern.

Of course.

Almost convinced that the man I was totally in lust with was allergic to clutter, I spied a LAMY fountain pen resting on top of a leather-bound book. It's large tale-tell metal clip facing me. Although I thought it odd that those things weren't on a shelf behind glass, I was more intrigued by the pen itself.

I was a BIG fan of fountain pens. The smooth feel of a nice inked nib on quality paper was sometimes my only motivation for writing.

But I'd never seen one like this before. It was transparent. The entire mechanism visible. A lot like Edward, I surmised.

Even though I knew that he probably wouldn't like me touching his things, I had to look at the pen up close.

But, it was just out of reach from my lazy recline, so I had to grab the edge of the leather journal and pull it toward me.

Yes, I know, I should have gotten up off the couch and picked it up like a normal person. But I don't have common sense sometimes.

Then, I inadvertently pulled both book and pen off the table, where the former flopped open, and the later bounced several times, ending up under the couch. The sound of the slapping leather and plastic pen on the hardwood cut through the silence, and I wondered if Edward would come running.

When he didn't, I rolled off the couch, picking up the book and trying not to read anything. Honestly. But something jumped out at me.

My name.

I was written in very small, neat script all over both sides of the page. Starting with my full name, it progressed over several pages with my initials, then _Miss? Mrs.? Ms.?_ and finally, a few pages of just _Bella_. There were also draft-quality sketches of me scattered throughout, in various stages of undress. None were naked.

_He would make an excellent serial killer_, I errantly thought.

Blushing and only moderately confused, I put the journal back on the table, but not before sneaking a peak at the inscription on the inside cover:

_Bella Journal_

I swallowed. He had an entire journal dedicated to me?

Creepy? Uh...yeah, a little—but I do, after all, have a thing for Dexter, so...

I was also somewhat turned on...

Hesitating about whether to finish putting my clothes back on or look for his pen, I settled on getting the pen first.

I turned away from the bench, and moved to the floor. I began the search for it under the couch, ass high, forearms on the floor.

Steadying myself, I reached out, and as my fingers brushed the plastic, I heard, "Oh, fuck."

I stilled, realizing that he would know I had been snooping.

I turned my head to look over my shoulder at Edward, fully dressed, hair still wet...pants tented.

"Um," I said.

"Pardon?"

"I uh...I was just trying to reach" reaching said arm to demonstrate, "fuck, this couch is massive...this pen. It rolled under the couch."

"What about your ass?"

"No, the pen."

...

"Edward."

"I'm sorry, you lost me at ass."

"I didn't say 'ass''."

"You didn't?"

"No."

...

"Would you?" I gestured to where the pen had rested, closer to him, with my head.

Edward easily grabbed the pen off the floor. Then he helped me to my feet. He stared at the pen in his hand.

"What happened?" He asked without a hint of accusation, just an inquiry for knowledge.

His tone alone helped me feel more comfortable about speaking.

"I, uh, I dropped your pen and it bounced on the floor and ended up under the couch." I was talking to him about the pen, but I was looking guiltily at the journal.

"You touched my pen?"

"I'm sorry."

Edward didn't speak. His lips pressed together. I couldn't tell if he was angry, confused, or both.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have left those things out."

"You're not mad at me?"

"I'm not sure, Bella." His eyes went to the journal. "There's a part of me that is upset you touched those things...but there's another part of me that likes it. I don't know which to heed."

"Oh." For once, my dumbfoundedness made sense. How to respond to _that_?

Had he just noticed the journal was in a different place from where he left it? I was positive he had. And now were both staring at it.

Still.

_Stop it, Bella._

I looked away, guiltily.

I didn't notice that his attention had made it back to me until he said, "Would you put your clothes back on? I'm finding it very difficult to concentrate with you almost naked."

"I'm sorry."

"No..." he said, a smile working its way up the right side of his face, "Don't be. I'm just..." and the smile faltered, "I feel very out of control..." He swallowed loudly. "I like it and I don't. I don't want to make mistakes, but I don't know what to do."

I already had my shirt on, and was sitting on the ottoman to put my pants back on.

He watched me while I dressed, seeming to be mesmerized with each movement.

I stood up when I was dressed. "What do you want to do, Edward?" I asked, more confident and less weirded-out once I was fully clothed.

"I," he swallowed again. "I want to kiss you."

"Go ahead," said a very brave Bella, entering stage right.

He looked surprised (we both were)...but also scared (we _both_ were).

"But you saw my journal."

"Yeah..." I admitted, sheepishly and therefore somewhat reluctantly.

He pointed at the journal. "You know I lied to you about not masturbating while imagining you naked."

"You didn't draw me naked," I pointed out.

"I didn't want to get it wrong."

"Oh."

"You aren't mad," he said.

It felt like a question, so I said, "No."

I should have confessed to him that I hadn't come to the conclusion that he masturbated while thinking of me naked from anything I saw in the journal. I'm not _actually_ an idiot, it never occurred to me that he _hadn't_.

He was very transparent to me.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of latex slapping skin. My arousal was immediate; I shivered.

Edward wore a serious expression.

"I want to try something."

"OK."

He licked his lips, frowned slightly in concentration perhaps, and leaned in. He stopped a mere inch from my face.

"Please. Be very still."

I succeeded in not closing the distance between us even a little. His eyes were still open, looking for something above me and to my left. I resisted the urge to grab his face and make him look at _me_.

Finally, his lips made it to my face...

He totally missed my lips. His were more in the vicinity of my left cheek and nose. I debated whether or not to move.

"Oops!" He said, realizing what he had done.

He pulled back enough to look at me and reached up to cradle my head in his hands.

"Let me try that again."

"OK."

He leaned in, breath ragged and labored, staring into my eyes until the last moment, when his closed, head tilting. This time his aim was perfect. His lips warm, his thumbs slick against my cheeks, his nose resting in the indention between my nose and left cheek.

He inhaled slowly. I took a chance and leaned into the kiss. I kept my tongue firmly behind my teeth.

He moaned.

We stayed there, not moving, the position of the kiss lasting way longer than is normal.

I suppose.

One would think that passion would carry us away, and we'd make sweet sloppy love on the floor.

But let's get real: this was Edward and this was me. Although certainly capable of getting swept away, we were both too anxious and in our heads to completely lose ourselves in the moment.

Instead, Edward carefully pulled away from the kiss, and looked at me.

"I want to do that every day, from now on. I hope you're OK with that."

I nodded.

Then he did it again.

Only this time his mouth crept open. Not taking the bait I waited for his tongue. It didn't come, but my lower lip did slip in between both of his for a brief moment.

He pulled away again. He was sweating and breathing heavily.

"Was that OK?"

I nodded enthusiastically, in what I hoped was a silent plea for more of same.

He smiled, smugness radiating outward from his lips.

While his hands were still cupping my face, his eyes searched mine...looking for confirmation of something.

Then he broke the silence: "I'm not afraid of you anymore...I don't think. I want to take this slowly, though. Can you do that with me?"

What was that? I wasn't able to pay attention with his mouth so close. I ran through what my ears had picked up, but mind failed to process. My scrunched up figuring-face must have momentarily confused him.

"No?" he asked, misinterpreting my expression.

"No. Um, yes. I don't mind."

"Good." He leaned in one more time, touched his lips to each of my eyelids and let my face go. Electricity jolted between us as his hands released my head, the latex causing static that made my hair to stand out around me.

I rolled my eyes. Edward grinned. Men of science love this shit.

"You are perfect," He confirmed.

~~§•§~~

When I got home, I picked up the phone to call him and make sure everything was still OK. I stopped myself before I finished dialing the number.

I was about to call a boy...actually a man.

Fuck, was he ever a man.

This was an event without precedent...in an evening full of events without precedent.

I stared at the phone for a few minutes, but because I was unable to come up with an appropriate reason to call him, I ended up just going to bed, where I fingered the glove he had been wearing when he touched himself, as I fell asleep.

~~§•§~~

**EDWARD POV **

After she left, I dealt with constant warring thoughts and emotions.

_OCD-Me_ wanted to take several showers, clean the apartment from top to bottom, burn my clothes and air out my apartment.

_Bella-Me_, though, wanted to sit in this room, filled with her scent, content to replay the memories: each sight, each sound...and fuck me...every _touch_...

I curled up on in the couch, staring at the place where she touched herself, watching it in my mind again and again, until I fell asleep.

~~§•§~~

**Emmett POV** **(a few hours **_**before**_** Edward fell asleep...)**

"Baby..."

Rose was asleep already. The wine was great, but if she drank too much, she passed out.

We had said our goodbyes to Ed and Bella and Jazz-o.

We did the dishes. Then I got online to give her time to wash her face and do other chick shit before I jumped her.

I must have given her five minutes too long...

I knew better than to shake her, because she'd totally grab my balls if I did, but continued whispering her name, hoping she would wake up...

Impatiently, I rubbed her arm and continued whispering. She moaned and turned toward me, eyes fluttering.

Then, she jerked up when we both heard "_**Fuck!**_" from across the hall.

She looked at me, panicking.

"What should we _do_?"

"Be still, babe. Eddy-boy is supposed to call if he needs us. If he doesn't call, or she doesn't stomp out in the next five minutes, I think they're OK."

"Did you get his gun?"

"Yeah, I got it this morning."

"Was that _her_?"

"Yeah, sounded girly to me."

Not that Edward _never_ sounded like a girl when he shouted, he had definitely done _that_ on many occasions, but I happened to know that particular kind of shouting very well. Rose was prone to doing it...I wanted her to be doing it right now...Anyway, I was positive that it wasn't Edward who had just screamed "fuck."

I didn't realize that I had been grinding on my wife while I thought of what was going on across the hall, until she punched me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get you horny," I lied.

"I'm already horny, but for future reference, dry humping the side of my leg isn't as effective for me as it is for you."

"Okay! Let's do it!"

And I jerked off my boxers (all I was wearing), and pulled up her nightshirt (all she was wearing) just high enough to access her tits.

As I eased into her, I felt a relaxation I hadn't felt in years. I wasn't afraid of getting a frantic call from Edward, the police or neighbors. I could enjoy fucking my wife, because I had confidence that my little brother was going to be okay.

~~§•§~~

**Jasper POV** **(now-ish...)**

My field of vision was filled with red patent leather, new, by the smell of it, with just a hint of PVC.

I'd been laying here, on my side with my arms bound behind my back, for barely five minutes...just long enough for me to come down from a post coital high.

My mistress rode my face, my pelvis, and finally...patiently...my ass. She hadn't allowed me to come, yet, but that was normal. She usually wanted the Last Hurrah to be straight up missionary, still in the playroom, but without me being trussed up. She always gave me some time to come down, so I could last for at least a few minutes...another orgasm for her...

And now, she was standing over me, her boot all I could see...only she must have squatted, because her breath and voice were suddenly in my ear.

"Lovely? I need for you to stand up, now. Can you do that?"

Odd. She usually untied me once the kinky part was over...was it not yet over? What wondrous torture could she possibly have in store for me now? My cock twitched at the thought of nipple clamps, still in the drawer to my left.

She had not allowed me to vocalize this evening and she hadn't ended our play, so I nodded before I leaned forward, needing her help to stand without using my hands.

That was probably why she hadn't untied me, yet.

I opened my eyes further to take in her form and to gaze into her eyes. Bottomless. So dark in the low light that it was impossible to discern her pupils from her irises.

She rarely blindfolded me, because she said she _liked_ me looking at every part of her.

My Mistress swallowed my cold, gray-eyed stare, which in any other situation rendered the recipient intimidated and pliable; she eradicated it as though it never existed. Under her gaze, my will became her own.

She paced back and forth in front of me and I enjoyed the view of her red-PVC catsuit. Crotch-less.

"You've been a _very_ good boy in my playroom tonight, but I don't think you were as good earlier tonight, were you, precious? I think you've kept something from me...and I think it's time for you to tell me what it is. It's time for you to _confess_..."

I swallowed but didn't speak, because she hadn't commanded me to speak. Still, I had a twinge of worry. Sometimes, she made up shit so she could spank me a little...I liked it a lot, but that was usually at the beginning of our play, and never after she fucked me in the ass. This late-play, post-anal confession was new.

"When you came into the playroom this evening, I smelled a particular smell. Do you know what it was?"

She circled me like a shark. I didn't move. What was she implying? That I had an affair?

She continued her pacing, her heels clicking on the floor. Her arms were folded over her chest, one hand brushing her lips absentmindedly as she continued to think aloud.

"I don't think you made time for a whore, or..." She stopped briefly and leaned in to speak quietly toward my ear, chuckling under her breath, "_another_ mistress...No, this smell created a mystery that I've been trying to solve in my head for the past couple of hours."

I broke out into a cold sweat, but not because I knew what she was talking about, but because of her _tone_. There was an edge of seriousness that I'd never heard before.

That's not to say she never sounded serious, but this level of seriousness was typically relegated to work. As if to accentuate the point, she stopped in front of me and looked me in the eyes, gauging my reaction from that vantage point, only.

"I still haven't quite solved it, yet. And the reason is because things just don't add up to anything that makes any sense...unless you've _lied_ to me. Either you _weren't_ where you said you were...or you met someone tonight that I didn't _expect_ you to meet."

Her accuracy without the facts was a mind fuck in and of itself. She must have seen something in my eyes, because hers narrowed in that way she does when she's got all the information she needs to go forward.

"Whipping bench."

I didn't hesitate as I turned on my heel to walk ten steps to my right, then leaned over the wooden bench, it's smooth concave top gently cupping my chest and abdomen as I curled over it. I hoped she would just punish me and get it over with, but this was turning out to be different in a lot of ways. I assumed this wasn't going to be straightforward...I had a sinking feeling that this was going to resemble an interrogation.

She walked around to face me, leather strap tucked into the belt at her waist. Her arms were still folded and she wore a weary frown.

"Before I warm you up and punish you, I'd like to know _exactly_ why I'm doing this.

"I already know you lied to me, that was obvious from the beginning," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You _did_ lie to me, Jasper, either directly or by omission...but I really only need to know _one_ thing."

OK, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. An easy "yes" or "no" question. I could handle that. She probably had plenty she wanted to say, anyway. I relaxed into my stance, the bench warming with the contact of my skin. I was ready.

"Why did I smell my sister's perfume on you when you told me you were eating dinner with your sister and her family tonight, Jasper?"


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 13**

**Dr. Evil**

_When your name is evil_

_Bad is good or so you think_

_But you're so very wrong, it's evil_

_But being wrong is right_

_And so you're good again_

_Which is the evilest thing of all_

Excerpt from "Dr. Evil" by TMBG

_***Alice***_** POV**

Oh, buddy. I just fucked up BIG TIME. I knew I should _red_, but I just couldn't. I wanted to know what happened more than I wanted to do the right thing.

"Well?" I asked, foot tapping.

...

"Red."

"What?"

"Red. I said 'red,' Alice."

I went behind him and started undoing the knots at his wrists. It was an automatic response, not what I _wanted_ to do at all. The rope fell to the hardwood floor with a soft thud.

I looked up at him, trying to keep the uncomfortable feelings under the surface, so he wouldn't see. I was very pissed at Jasper...and even a little at myself...but I couldn't dwell on that. There were answers I needed. My little slut—I mean _husband_—wasn't getting off that easily.

He spoke for the first time after he safe-worded: "I'm getting dressed. And you're changing into something..." he gestured to my catsuit with disdain, "with cotton. Then, we're going to meet in the kitchen. _Then_, we're going to talk. Like a normal couple. No D/s. Got it?"

I nodded, but kept my face stern.

He was disappointed in me. I was disappointed in myself. I went back over the events of this evening in my head to figure out where it went wrong as I wandered into our closet to find some clothes.

I knew where it started. It started with that damn perfume. Only Isabella would wear something so odd that it would stand out in a crowd. Not happy with regular patchouli, she just _had_ to have "modern" patchouli. Only Isabella would wear something so _plebeian_...I mean, it was _GAP_ for crying out loud.

I knew, even as my thoughts pulled up reasons to blame both of them for what happened in the playroom, that I had no one to blame for Jasper safe-wording but myself.

Of course, I wasn't going to cede the moral high ground so easily. Jasper had a lot to account for, and I had a feeling my sister did, too. I just hoped it wasn't the kind of betrayal we couldn't come back from...I hoped it wasn't sex-related.

I continued to worry as I dressed.

If it had been something benign like planning for my birthday next month, then Jasper would have told me right away, I would have "punished" him, and we would have moved on.

But he hesitated...and before he hesitated, I saw something I'd _never_ seen in his eyes before...not even in the courtroom with a morally bankrupt client.

I saw guilt.

In that moment, I knew that they weren't party planning this evening.

No, it was before then. I knew the minute I smelled her perfume. Isabella would never assert herself to the degree that she would be involved in any kind of _planning_. I couldn't even _think_ the word near her name without a negative. I actually rolled my eyes as I thought it.

Not to mention, the only way the smell of her perfume would transfer to Jasper's clothes is if she were close enough to actually _hug_ him...and why would she do that? Although she wasn't weird about hugging, it's just not something she did with Jasper.

That I knew of.

Jasper wasn't really that much of a hugger himself. I mean, he hugged me plenty, but I was his wife. It's not like he hugs anyone else in his family.

No, I couldn't possibly know that. I didn't _know_ any one else in his family.

But the facts in evidence were: A. I had never seen Jasper hug my sister, and B. He had clearly hugged, or been pressed up against her, recently. And because those facts seemed mutually exclusive, there had to be information I was lacking.

The bottom line was that I didn't have sufficient evidence for anything. Judgment would have to be suspended until we talked.

Suddenly cold at the prospect of my husband cheating on me with my plain mute sister, I grabbed my robe and a pair of wool socks to add to my cami and shorts ensemble and dejectedly shuffled into the kitchen.

Jasper was sitting there, leaning back in his chair, legs splayed out. He was back in the rumpled suit he wore home. He stared at me impassively.

Either he had some major chutzpah or he wasn't guilty of adultery. A guilty husband always gets rid of evidence (especially the sensory kind) as soon as possible. And although Jasper _did_ have that quality in the courtroom, when he was alone with me, he was a different man. He could never flaunt it in front of me like this and still look me in the eye.

But I was still curious, so I didn't tip my hand. I looked at him sullenly, my tears forming behind my eyes, ready to drop down my cheeks if required.

"Alice, I'm going to tell you, straight out, before you ask. I _did_ hug your sister tonight, but that's it. There was nothing forward or inappropriate in my hugging her."

I started to jump in with my interrogation, but Jasper put his fingers to my lips.

"There's no need to do what you're about to do, Sweetheart. I'm going to tell you everything. But you _must_ promise me two things."

No. _Way_! He doesn't have the right to impose _conditions_ on me! I raised my right eyebrow in protest while his fingers stayed in place at my mouth.

"I know what you're thinking. But let me remind you that you brought serious, personal, non-D/s shit into the playroom tonight. You _knew_ from the moment I came in the door that something was off, and you concealed that from me. The right thing to do would have been to not play at all until it was resolved."

Why did he have to be so condescending? It was obnoxious.

He paused, clearly considering if removing my gentle gag was a good idea or not. It wasn't. He realized it and continued.

"I would have told you everything as soon as I came in, but it's not really my story to tell. I suppose I have to tell you _something_ now, but, there was nothing wrong with me keeping it to myself...apart from making you worry that I had had an affair...with your _sister_ of all people."

He rolled his eyes. I considered blinking the tears out of _my_ eyes, but he seemed to want to make this argument completely rational, so I decided to play along with his terms. For now.

I waited.

"1. I need you to listen until I'm finished and 2. I need you to direct any anger at me, not your sister. She wasn't even the one to initiate the hug, nor the dinner for that matter. So, if there's any "innocent" party in this, it would have to be her. Will you listen, Alice? _Can_ you listen?"

He removed his fingers slowly. Although I was glad to have the opportunity to respond, I suddenly missed the contact. Ever attuned to my body, Jasper reached across the divide and grabbed my hands in his.

I almost cried for real. I turned my head and got my shit together before I looked at him and said coldly, "You've got five minutes."

Jasper let go with one of his hands and rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. He always did this when he was trying to decide which point was the best to start with—especially when he was unprepared.

I was _never_ unprepared.

"Four minutes, forty-five seconds," I said nodding to the clock on the wall.

Jasper turned and looked at it, then turned back to me. He grabbed my hand again.

He began, "Here are the important facts: I _did_ have dinner with your sister tonight. However, I did _not_ know she was going to be there. She _has_ made the acquaintance of my sister and her family, but had absolutely no idea that_ I _was going to be there too, because like you, she didn't know who my family was. Obviously, they don't know who _she_ is...that she's your sister and my sister-in-law."

That sounded a bit contrived, but he didn't appear to be lying. Of course there were still more questions. He knew what they were and he had three and a half minutes. I blinked slowly and waited.

"Your sister, well, obviously, it was a trying time for her...you know, a social situation...and not expecting _me _to be there. She did very well, by the way. You would have been proud, I think."

I rolled my eyes, but resisted the urge to scoff. Like I could take any credit for anything she did. I could barely keep any tabs on her at all. She was the most independent person I knew. She didn't need anyone to make her happy. She was satisfied to have one friend. And when she goes to parties, she just hangs out by herself. How could it have possibly been a trying time? It might have been a _boring_ time.

"Anyway, since it's _my_ family, and I don't have to tell you any details about my family, I can't tell you _why _she became upset, but she did, and I just comforted her...very briefly, in a totally brotherly way. That's all."

He was finished? Not hardly. I searched for a loophole.

"Hm, well, you're right, you don't have to tell me names, but there's nothing that would break the rules if you were to only tell me the circumstances. So, give me all the specifics that aren't names."

"Alice..."

"Jasper."

"Oh, times up!" He tried.

"No, that was for me to be quiet. It's now fair for me to ask questions."

"Fine." He rubbed his neck again, and stood up, delaying his response with the excuse of needing to make coffee. After turning the machine on and grabbing a couple of cups from the cupboard, he turned to me.

"Can't I just ask you to ask Bella about this?"

"_**Bella?**_"

Jasper carefully set the coffee cups down on the table. The sound was so loud with the utter quiet around us that I flinched.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. In this position he said, "Yeah, she likes to be called 'Bella' apparently."

My stomach churned at this news. I wanted to vomit. "She never told me that."

Jasper turned and looked at me as if to say, _Of _course_ not_.

I felt a new kind of betrayal clawing its way to the surface. One I would have never anticipated. I swallowed the lump in my throat. The weepy feeling...the _real_ kind, the uncontrollable feeling I hadn't had since I was a teenager, was suddenly consuming me.

~~§•§~~

I remembered the day she changed me. I was twelve. I was sitting in her office, in one of the client chairs.

_She had been on the phone with someone...another attorney, an employee, perhaps even my father—_yelling_. I was upset that she wasn't paying attention to _me_. _

_Jared had broken up with me, and I was upset, and even though I had a feeling that tears wouldn't be a good idea, I couldn't help myself. _

_I felt so alone and abandoned. _

_She looked up at me from her call, noticed my crying and turned around, away from me, in her chair. _

_When she was finished she came around her desk to sit next to me, watching me like she did her clients...with a look of clinical interest, but no feeling. _

_When I finally got my tears under control, she took my chin and made eye contact with me. _

_Then, my mother told me that, "_Tears are a weapon, Alice. If you can't control your weapon, _you _are the only one who will get hurt. Don't ever cry because of weakness and vulnerability. Only cry to manipulate the situation. Period. Do you understand?_" _

_I nodded. Even though I had no idea what she was referring to. _

It would be a couple of years before I could consistently control my tears; cry on command.

But only few months after our "talk," I learned exactly what kind of weapon it was.

Mother was an excellent mentor in that regard.

Jared and I dated for the rest of my high school career. He was so easily manipulated. I dumped him without feeling the day after graduation.

~~§•§~~

I looked up at Jasper, unable to conceal the evidence of my emotional state any longer.

He was leaning against the counter, the slurping and bubbling sounds of the coffee brewing taking up the slack in our non-existent conversation. He looked at me, his eyes openly and tenderly questioning, begging for a verbal response.

I wasn't sure what to do. The tears were there, yet un-shed, but regardless of what was happening with my eyes, I was definitely crying. The lump had turned into a mountain of sorrow.

I lowered my head again as I processed what was happening.

I couldn't organize all the details in my current state, but I was positive that the fact that my husband had developed a closer relationship with my sister in the past few _hours_ than I had in thirty-odd _years_ as twins was directly related to my sadness and feelings of betrayal.

And that conclusion was all I needed to be able suppress that evil vulnerability. My heart properly hardened, I knew who to blame. Feelings and tears under control, I looked up to Jasper again.

The tenderness fell, and the openness disappeared.

Jasper already knew these steps. It was his least favorite dance, but he was the only one who had ever successfully partnered me through it, the only one who didn't stumble and lose my respect.

Meeting me at the table, he didn't sit there waiting for me to push him away and give him the silent treatment or fake tears like I usually did.

He did the one thing he'd never done outside the playroom.

He begged. Out loud. On his knees.

His hands articulated each request, touching me gently, touching my hair, holding my hands, grasping my knees; each a physical manifestation of his petition: "Please. Don't do this, Alice. Not tonight. Let's take this as an opportunity to grow as a couple. C'mon, baby. Look at me. I love you. Let's just talk about it. Please? I _want_ to hear your feelings. It will be OK, I promise...Just...let it out..."

No, it wasn't a petition. He was giving me _permission_. To _cry_.

I looked at him incredulously, as I was hit with the realization that the tactics I had always used: crying to get a sympathy response or ignoring him so he would apologize until I was satisfied, had had no impact on him. He sympathized with me regardless. He apologized because he was sorry.

And he knew _this_ time was different.

But I couldn't give in. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of being right.

"**No.**" I shut him down and threw his hand away. "I _know _what happened. I understand **completely**."

Satisfied that I was at least talking and not just ignoring him, Jasper tried again, "OK. Good, tell me. Tell me what you know. Let me know, too."

He reached for my hand again, and I felt the traitor lump returning. The forcefulness was harder to contain this second time around.

I pushed him back, out of my personal space, and walked away from him toward our bedroom.

"Alice..._Alice_!"

I ignored him. We were not having this conversation tonight...we probably weren't having this conversation, ever.

I made it to the bathroom with no time to spare. I slammed door in his face and then I was weeping.

I was loud and thorough, hoping that the more I let out, the faster it would dissipate.

I learned first hand that night that the more you cry, the more you cry. Truly, a word to the wise: if you don't want to cry a lot, don't start crying at all...especially if it's been a while.

I cried for hours. I knew, because as my wails morphed into sobs, which turned into whimpers, the black sky turned gray and then pink.

Finally, I looked around the room, away from my view of the window, which had been eclipsed by the soft slate rug, and glimpsed my husband, sitting on the toilet, head in his hands, eyes red.

I hadn't even noticed when he'd entered the room. I thought about asking him how long he'd been sitting there, but I was too ashamed.

I'd never seen him so sad, so worried.

"I love you, Alice," was all he said.

Then, he got up, grabbed a washcloth and wet it in the sink. Wringing out the excess, he knelt on the floor and started cleaning my face.

Somehow, I still had more tears. He shushed me, caressing my face with the terry fabric, which felt surprisingly like sandpaper on my tear-swollen face. I winced when it became more than I could handle, and Jasper stopped.

He helped me up, and once I was standing, he picked me up and carried me to bed. He tucked me in, and then lay on top of the covers, brushing my hair from my face with his fingers.

He had never looked at me with such love and adoration.

I never knew that level of caring existed, for real.

I looked down and saw he was still wearing the suit. Immediately, my mind conjured the feelings of hate and betrayal from last night, but I willed them away this time.

There had to be another way of looking at this. I couldn't fathom it right now, but I was a smart girl; I would figure it out.

~~§•§~~

**Jasper POV**

Alice fell asleep shortly after I pulled the covers to her shoulders. I lay there a bit longer than I needed to ensure she wouldn't wake-up when I moved.

Also, I couldn't stop looking at her, yet.

She had never been so vulnerable with me—with anyone, I'd wager.

She had never been more beautiful.

Not that I _wanted_ to see her weeping on the floor in a truly pathetic state; I could go forever without an evening spent watching her melt on the bathroom floor.

But the _honesty_...now that was something to cherish. I hoped it would remain, beyond her tears.

I thought about calling Bella and giving her a heads up, but I knew that whatever inroads I'd made with Alice would be lost if I involved her sister before my wife was ready.

No, I'd have to go it alone.

I got up and went to the kitchen, pulling my suit jacket from the back of the chair. I pulled off all my clothes, throwing them in the hamper in our closet to be dry cleaned.

I worried what would happen once Alice discovered that the hug and Bella's name were the least of my offenses...at least, that would be how _she_ would see my participation in Bella and Edward's affairs...

I showered and prepared for the battle ahead.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 14**

**Snail Shell**

_Was it something you would do for anybody?_

_Was it what you'd only do for me?_

_Or was it something where you acted when you saw the need_

_and knew that there would be a way the act could be repaid_

_And so it may, but for today_

_I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell._

Excerpt from "Snail Shell" by TMBG

**EPOV**

I woke at seven.

That was not unusual. I always wake at seven.

But I was naked. On my couch. I looked down and saw my clothes piled haphazardly on the floor. I didn't _remember_ removing them. Again. But clearly I had. The last thing I remembered was that I had showered and gotten dressed before Bella left...

Bella.

The thought of her sent my hand to my crotch instinctively. On it's way, it brushed a cool sticky substance on my belly. Ejaculate. I retched, feeling the burn of half vomited bile at the back of my throat.

As I moved my head to peer shamefully at the disgusting mess on my abdomen, I discovered that my left cheek was rather stuck to the leather of my couch. I peeled my face away and I felt the imprint that remained.

I grabbed a tissue to remove what I could of the partially dried fluid. Then, picked up my clothes, tossing them in the hamper in my closet.

_I must have undressed and masturbated...or at least had a nocturnal emission,_ I thought, as I went to my bathroom and confirmed my suspicions about my face in the mirror.

Red blotches that reminded me of a serious rash, or possibly rosacea, marked my face. I touched my cheek, then rubbed it.

They didn't go away. I pulled out a fresh bar of soap and turned the water on hot. I scrubbed my face several times until it was red all over. I would have to check later to see if they were still there.

Then, I got in the shower to clean the rest of my body.

Bella came to mind.

_Had she ever left it? _I thought.

I had to relieve myself of the ache, which thoughts of her always caused, before I could finish washing.

Clean and only temporarily relieved, I walked into my bedroom and pulled out clothes to wear. I was hesitant to get dressed. I wanted to hold onto something of the previous night's activities. The rest had gone down the shower drain.

In the end I decided I would _have_ to dress. Although well groomed, the thought of body hair getting into my food in the kitchen was nauseating.

I fixed breakfast: two servings of oatmeal, herbal tea and a thoroughly washed apple. I lined up everything on my kitchen table carefully once it was prepared.

I paused before eating. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the compulsion to measure. I eyed the wood grain of the doors of the sideboard across from me warily, the smug inlaid geometric shapes taunting me, daring me to open them and measure everything inside.

I looked back at my food and concentrated on the necessity of nourishment. I wondered if Bella was awake, yet, and considered whether or not it would be appropriate to call her this early on a Saturday. I wanted to know what she was doing, what she thought about last night...

I wanted to kiss her again.

I touched my lips and felt my erection growing in my pants.

I slammed my unused spoon down, then lined it up again.

I gripped the edge of the table with both hands, my fingers turning white as I squeezed the blood from my appendages in an illogical attempt to calm the ambivalence in my brain by focusing physical energy through my fingers.

One part of me wanted nothing more than to keep and maintain any kind of physical contact with her. To explore every part inside and out. To _learn_ her mind and body.

The other side wanted order, cleanliness, distance. It feared the change she brought last night. It hated her and her meddling in my journal. It felt betrayed.

I was determined to keep some semblance of faithfulness to my routine, so I ate my meal carefully, not too fast, but not so slow that the oatmeal cooled before I could finish. I would think of Bella after breakfast.

I washed the dishes, went to the living room and picked up my journal. The ambivalence was back. Anger and lust held equal sway in my mind.

I realized that _both_ feelings were illogical. I had to figure this puzzle out. I needed help.

I needed Dr. Cullen.

I set my journal down and went to my computer to send him an email.

**Dr. Cullen: **

**Please forgive me for not having responded to your last email.**

**I know too much time has passed for you to consider this a timely response. Indeed, I am somewhat ashamed that I did not tell you after our last appointment that I had no intention of continuing our sessions.**

**If you can forgive me for not responding, perhaps you can also find an opening for me within the next few days.**

**But let me be clear: I do not want to go back to weekly sessions. I have made a lot of improvement on my own lately, and I enjoy the sense of empowerment that comes with it. You were right about that. You were right about everything.**

**However, from time to time, I think it would be wise to seek your advice, particularly, as I don't want any major setbacks.**

**The reason I want to speak with you is because I am now in a relationship with the woman we last discussed, Ms. Isabella Swan. **

**There is a lot to explain, of course, but suffice it to say, we are approaching a physical relationship, and my OCD symptoms, which have improved greatly over the past several months, are becoming difficult to control again. I need your guidance.**

**I will take any opening you have, day or night, at your earliest convenience.**

**Thank you,**

**EAM**

Satisfied that I had done the best that I could to persuade Dr. Cullen to see me, I thought about Bella, and whether or not I should call her.

_Wouldn't it be easier to email her like you did with Dr. Cullen? She would appreciate that, and then you could contact her at any time, and she could respond when it was convenient for _her_._

Finally able to focus on something that made sense, I got online and purchased a top-of-the-line Apple MacBook Pro. I knew that Bella would not want to be bothered with the constant vigilance required to maintain a Microsoft operating system. Keeping them virus free was almost a full time job in and of itself.

I entered her address for delivery, and added Protection Plan and One-to-One setup help to my purchase. As much as I wanted to take care of it for her, I had to accept my current limitations.

After the order was placed and I received email confirmation of my purchase, I worked on cleaning my desk and measuring my journals. I added an entry about the compulsion to do so, but felt better once the tasks were complete.

Then, I undressed and prepared to shower again, as I always do after cleaning.

Once in the shower, I masturbated again. I decided that shame had no place here. It was far better to clear my mind in this way, than to allow thoughts of her to get out of control.

Her hair...and lack of it...were a blur in my mind as I came.

Feeling exhausted from the frequency of orgasms within the past twelve hours, I toweled off and fell on top my bed for a nap.

I was awakened from sleep by the sound of my phone ringing.

I glanced at the caller ID briefly, and once I recognized the number, I answered it.

"Bella."

"_Hi. Is it too early to call?"_

I laughed.

That was odd. It was also odd that she unexpectedly had the same concern as me.

"No, I was worried that it was too early to call _you_. I've been up since seven."

"_I just woke up. Um."_

I had learned that the best way to deal with Bella's fear of judgment about speaking was to wait patiently for her to continue.

"_I normally...uh...get up earlier than this...than ten a.m. on...you know...Saturdays."_

"What time do you normally get up?" I was already imagining waking up next to her, finding her sleeping. Watching her. Naked. Bella naked. And me naked. Wait. She was talking again.

"_Around eight?..." _she sighed loudly. _"I mean, _eight_. I get up at eight...I'm, well...I'm usually at my sister's...at Alice's apartment right now_."

"Why are you not? Did something happen?" I asked.

"_Um...I'm not sure. She...Alice always calls. She hasn't called. I...uh..."_

I could hear something rustling over the phone.

"_I need your help."_

"Anything," I said, ignoring the panic that followed as I anticipated her asking me to come to her apartment.

"_I uh...OK...just listen...OK?"_

I waited for her to continue for several seconds.

"_Edward?"_

Was I supposed to speak now? I waited for her to say something that more clearly articulated what she needed.

"_Are you there?"_

"Yes. I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?"

"_No...uh.."_

I worried again that I made a mistake, but resisted the urge to speak.

"_Will ice keep a bruise from forming?"_

"What happened?" I asked, panicking. It was true that bruises were not a terrible condition, but the thought of her bruised caused me to worry that she had exposed herself to danger.

"_Please answer the question, Edward, and I'll tell you," _she said, her voice carrying that tone that Rosalie's has when I am on her dirty list. In those situations, I had to accept that my questions were not a priority.

"Yes, if it is within moments of impact, ice can prevent a bruise from appearing."

"_Good..."_

I waited for the explanation I'd requested, but it never dame. I was growing impatient. It was an emotion with which I had little familiarity.

"B—"

"—_I...OK...here's what happened...I woke up...the sun...it was too high for eight...I uh...kind of freaked out because of Alice...you know?"_

I wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question or not. I hesitated and she continued, so I assumed it was.

"_I jumped out of bed...and...I have hardwood...gets waxed a lot...anyway...I slipped on a shirt lying on the floor...kittens, this is embarrassing..."_

I didn't speak. I waited.

"_I was...um...naked?"_

She was naked?

I was beginning to resent my growing familiarity with having to concentrate through the distraction of an erect penis.

It was annoying. That was another emotion with which I lacked familiarity.

"_Shit.._**naked**._ I fell...uh...fuck it—right boob first, right shoulder close second...My shoulder hurts. I grabbed an ice pack, but...I wanted to check...I guess...um, well, it was just an excuse to call you."_

"You were naked?" I had to have confirmation.

"_Yeah. I, uh, I'm still naked."_

I couldn't remember why she called. It was important...she was...fuck...she's naked...

"Are you Okay, Bella?" I could manage that, at least. Then we could get back to the nakedness.

"_Yeah, I'm great...you know, now that...the bruise thing is OK, and...um, you're on the phone...shit...that sounded really desperate, I know..."_

"No, it's fine."

I had no idea what she meant by her last comment. I wanted to ask, but it seemed to me that asking her to explain herself might make her want to stop talking, and I didn't want that at all.

I noted the location of my hand and moved it. This was not the proper time. It was convenient, true, but grossly inappropriate.

_Focus._

"Bella, I am very glad to hear that you are OK. I think you should invest in some house shoes with tread. Rosalie has a very nice pair you might consider. They have wool on the inside, so they are very warm, too... Of course, my feet get quite hot, so I couldn't wear them. If you are like me, you might like something else. Here, I can initiate a Google search for—"

"_No. Don't Google—"_

"—OK. Well, I'm not as familiar with Bing, but I'm willing to try—"

"—_No. Don't...you _don't_ have to do that. Listen," _she sighed loudly. I knew that noise, it's the one Rosalie makes when she's about to call Emmett to "deal with me." I decided now was a good time to listen.

And stop. Imagining her. _Naked_.

"_I've thought a lot about this. And I like that you care about me, and want to help me, Edward, but I already have someone in my life who does that...and I don't like it. I want to start...you know...taking care of my own shit...do you understand?" _

She was breathing heavily on the other line. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to understand, but I hoped that her "shit" was not something with which she expected me to become better acquainted.

"I don't think I _do_ understand. Will you please explain?" I said, desperately hoping that it wasn't excrement.

She sighed. _"_Alice_, Edward. Alice does _everything_...she doesn't even ask if it's what I want. And I just can't take that from you. I don't want to hate you, I want to...I mean, I do like you..._more_ than like...a lot. OK? So, just...if you want to do something for me, just ask first, OK? Just give me __**the fucking **_**choice**_** for a change!**__"_

Her volume and intensity suggested seriousness. And possibly violence, I wasn't positive. I was relieved that she was not in the room with me.

I was also glad that her reference to excrement seemed to be figurative, like Emmett and Rosalie's.

And then I realized that I had made a mistake.

I was afraid to speak. If I told her about the laptop, she may hate me.

On the other hand, she said she wanted me to check with her...could I lie to her and tell her I hadn't ordered it, yet? Would that be acceptable?

It was an ethical dilemma.

No, it wasn't a dilemma. It was wrong, and I was afraid because I knew that she would be upset when I admitted my guilt.

Not one to shirk my comeuppance, I prepared to confess.

"B—"

"_Edward. I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Can you forgive me?"_

_Me_ forgive _her_?

"I don't understand."

"_I...fuck...I don't mean to take my problems out on you. You're just trying to help for fuck's sake."_

"About that," I said, hoping she would let me get a word in this time, "I have to apologize, too."

"_Why?"_ She asked, sighing.

"I bought you a laptop...and I didn't ask if you wanted one or not. I thought we could chat online and email."

"_You bought me a laptop?"_

"Yes. Do you forgive me?"

"_I forgive you for not checking with me first. Geez, Edward. I mean, you don't even know what I would prefer."_

"Would you tell me? I'll cancel my order, and get you whatever you want."

"_Well, I don't feel right about accepting such an expensive gift. I mean, I can certainly afford my own laptop, several actually...I was always just too...I don't like sales people asking questions. It never works out well...plus, what would I use it for...Internet dating?" _

She barked a laugh that sounded like she was crying.

"Well, so can I. Seeing as how we can both afford multiple laptops, will you just accept it? I know a lot about computers, and whatever your preference, I can help you to make a sound decision. And I don't mind dealing with sales people...well, as long as we're not in the same room."

"_Fine, as long as it's a MacBook, I really don't care."_

I smiled at my success.

"Well, it's done, then."

"_Really?"_ she said.

"Yes."

"_How did you know?"_

"I didn't."

"_Then how did you, I mean...don't you work with PCs?"_

"That's for my _job_, Bella. My personal preference is for a clean, streamlined operating system, not the Byzantine monstrosity preferred by adolescent gamers and power-hungry corporations with no respect for finite resources."

"_Well, Edward, why don't you tell me how you _really_ feel." _

"I did."

She laughed loudly, and then I thought I heard her drop the phone.

I waited.

I didn't understand what was so funny.

"Bella?" I called.

"_I'm sorry, Edward. I shouldn't laugh at that, I just forgot how _literal _you are!"_

"Yes. It's true. I lack the ability to determine the meaning of certain nuances of speech...tone, for example, is very difficult for me to ascertain without multiple consistent experiences.

"I have _never _understood sarcasm. I've tried some examples that Emmett came up with, but it eludes me. I prefer to work with language choices I more readily understand."

"_I like it."_

"You do?"

"_Yeah. It makes it easy to talk to you. I know that if you _are_ judging me, you won't be malicious and sideways about it...and I respect that. A lot."_

"I think you are easy to talk to, too, Bella, and I...well, I am intrigued and grateful that you have been so accommodating of me and my limitations with physical contact. I never thought I'd meet anyone who would tolerate—and even join me in wearing—latex gloves."

"_Yeah, about that...uh...I wouldn't call it "tolerating," Edward."_

"You wouldn't? Were you unhappy? Did you feel obligated or uncomfortable? Bella, please allow me to apologize."

"_No, I'm not explaining this right...just listen again, OK?...I _like _the latex, Edward."_

Her voice had taken on that tone she used when we discussed the lists and when we were in my apartment. That tone that suggested arousal. I understood that tone.

Oh.

She meant...

"_It actually turns me on. A _lot_."_

Oh.

"_It's a fetish. I don't know if that's what it is for you or not, but the fact that _that's_ what you need...is the opposite of a problem for me."_

Oh.

"I'm naked, too, Bella. I don't know exactly why I said that, but it seemed germane."

"_Yes...It is indeed. We're both naked...talking about latex...and I have a confession to make, Edward."_

A confession? Had she committed a crime of moral turpitude?

"What is it? I'm sure I would forgive you anything, Bella."

"_I stole something from you last night."_

Although I felt a twinge of anger at her act of theft, I was also curious about what she had managed to take without my notice. But before I could interrogate her on the subject, she anticipated my question.

"_I took one of the gloves you wore while you were touching yourself. I'm wearing it right now...and, um..." _she took a deep breath and continued, _"I'm touching myself, Edward...I'm touching my, uh...shaven...pussy._"

I ached with the need for sexual release, but was distracted by a high-pitched scream or...was it a squeal? on the other line. I wondered what had happened.

"What happened?" I asked.

"_Sorry," _now she was giggling, _"I'm not used to being so forward...verbally...I was embarrassed about what I said."_

"Please don't be. It was beautiful...but it makes me ache, and I don't want to importune you...but I need to masturbate again very soon."

"_Okay. Will you, um, talk to me about it?"_

"I don't understand," I said.

"_Just, um...you tell me what you're doing, and I'll do the same...and then we'll _know_...what's going on."_

"I'm masturbating, Bella."

"_Right," _she said, breathless and...was she moaning? _"more...specific...like...what specifically your hand is doing...maybe...um, you can...fuck me...tell me what you wish I were doing...or what you want to do to me...or...fuck...hang on I've got to stop or I, er um, we won't get very far."_

There was silence. I thought about what she said. I removed my hand from my penis and spoke seriously.

"So, you want to verbally simulate the sex act with me over the phone?"

"_Fuck, yes."_

"I can do that.

"Bella, if I were with you right now, I would push you back on a soft surface so you were comfortable, then I would kneel on the floor in front of you."

"_Would you be wearing the gloves? Ung..."_

"Yes, if it stimulated you, I'd wear two on each hand, my love."

"_God _**damnit**_ that's hot..."_

"It is? Okay...And then I would take my gloved hands, and push your knees apart, sliding them up your legs to...Bella, is it Okay if I touch myself while I stimulate you verbally? I'm finding it overwhelmingly stimulating myself."

"_Fuck! Absolutely...I love the thought of you...oh, god, of you fisting your __**cock**__ in your hand while you're...ah...talking to me. Ohhhh...yes, and...and...what else, Edward?"_

"I would use my fingers to pull your labia apart carefully. Then, I would use one or possibly two fingers to stimulate the skin around your clitoris, as I observed you doing just...oh fuck...hang on..."

I breathed through my nose repeatedly in an attempt to hold off my orgasm. Bella was somewhat silent, her labored breathing and occasional expletives the only indication she was still on the phone.

"Okay, then, once you were sufficiently lubricated, I would stimulate your clitoris directly, slowly at first, and with more speed and friction as your...shiny...glistening...pink and...oh, it's beautiful, Bella, your genitals are absolutely lovely...and...just a minute."

I stopped masturbating and breathed deeply, listening to the noises she was making. Lovely, musical noises. I was upset that it wasn't one of _my_ hands in the glove touching her. I wanted to be her hands. Was that jealousy?

"_Fuck, Edward, I'm about to come...please...please keep talking...I can't...I can't do it. And it's so good. I...I know it's not possible, but I wish it were you...I can't wait to feel your hands on me."_

"I agree," I said, picking up speed with my motions. It was difficult to discuss what I wanted to do with her, while handling myself. But I was pleased with the outcome for both of us, so I persevered.

"Bella...fuck...then I would...ugnf...then I would insert two fingers into your vagina while I kept constant and attentive friction on your clitoris. I would carefully move them in and out of you, curling them up..._fucking __**fuck**_...I don't want it to be my fingers, Bella...right now, I'm not thinking of that, I'm...I'm...I want to fuck you with my..._oh, god, my__** dirty filthy cock**__!_ I...I...I just ejaculated, Bella!"

"_Fuck, that's hot...Fuu-huuu-huuuck...I just...I just came, Edward...Wow..."_

...

I was glad I'd never left the bed. I was about to fall asleep again. I reached for tissues from my nightstand.

"That was incredibly interesting...Bella?"

"_Yes?" _she asked sleepily.

"I've had six orgasms counting this one and the one we had together last night...I'm very, very tired. I need to take another nap, but when may I call you again?"

"_Anytime. I mean, I don't have an answering machine, but..."_

I heard a noise over the phone...a banging noise.

"_Oh, shit," _she said. _"I have to go, Edward...um...Alice is here."_

"Oh...can I help?" I asked, and the OCD part of me became upset at the lack of self-preservation exhibited under Bella's influence. I wondered briefly what I would do if she asked me to ride the subway.

_Empty your stomach, first._

"_No! Oh shit! She's using her key. I have to go."_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 15**

**They'll Need a Crane**

_Love sees love's happiness_

_But happiness can't see that love is sad_

That_ love is sad_

_Sadness is hanging there_

_To show love somewhere something needs a change_

_They need a change_

Excerpt from "They'll Need a Crane" by TMBG

**BPOV**

Ohhhhh fuck.

I hung up on Edward without saying goodbye (another dubious first) and pulled the latex glove off, throwing it in the direction of my trashcan. It hit the inside with a satisfying smack.

Then, I hopped off the bed and grabbed blindly at the first thing my hand landed on to cover myself. My save was voided, though, when I slipped on a satiny cami and ass-floored.

But before I could pull said ass off of said floor, Tornado Alice whirled in my room with an expression of fiery intensity, but not the anger I was expecting.

That was weird.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and stared at me with confusion.

That was weirder.

I looked down, and realized that I had picked up the gauzy see-through top I'd considered wearing last night. It had been tossed on the bed where most of my clothes ended up between Cleaning Lady Tuesdays.

"Why are you sitting on the floor..._naked_?" she asked.

"Uh..." I looked around the room frantically for something I could use for an excuse. A naked man or vibrator would sure come in handy right now.

"Well?" She asked impatiently.

"I..." Then, I spied the bathroom door ajar and inspiration struck. "I was about to, um, shower." I said, scratching my head and gesturing to said door.

She raised an eyebrow.

"OK...so, why didn't you answer the door when I knocked?"

"Uh..._naked_," I said, Vanna-Whiting my body, hoping that would be the end of it.

Realizing that the shirt was not serving it's proper function (reason number one why I didn't wear it in the first place), I threw it to the side, got up awkwardly, and headed for the shower, hoping she would take the hint and leave me alone for, like, ten minutes.

"You..." she pointed at me.

"What?" I stopped like a deer in headlights. Such a cliché, but, I'm pretty sure it was apt.

"You...what in the _fuck_ did you do with your pubes? Did you get _waxed_?"

She stared at my slit in horror, still pointing, and because I just _had_ to look down to see how monstrous it actually was; I noticed that it blushed just like my face when embarrassed.

Lovely.

I felt compelled to cover myself, but I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. She already saw the goods. What was I going to do? Cover it with my hands and tell her it was an optical illusion?

Instead, I ignored her question and looked back to the bathroom door, making short work of my escape.

She followed me, but not quickly enough, because I slammed the door in her face.

I stared at the knob, wondering if she would respect the boundary.

I actually have a fear that something terrible will happen to me while I'm in the shower (or on the toilet), so I never lock the door, just in case.

Satisfied that she would at least let me shower in peace, I stepped in and turned on the spray.

I inspected my work from the previous day carefully. I thought I felt a few rough spots where I might have missed a hair or two, so grabbed a fresh razor to fix it. I wasn't sure when Edward and I would have a chance to, you know, get on the O-Train again, but I sure as kittens didn't want a missed train to have anything to do with grooming. That would be the most unfair fail _ever_.

I took my time in the shower, but in the end, I hadn't had enough stall-time, so I just stood under the spray, waiting for the hot water to run out. I was _so _not ready to face Alice, and I knew that as soon as the water turned off, she'd be all over me like I was the last taxi on New Year's.

I thought about how I would answer the questions I just _knew_ she'd ask me. I smiled inwardly at my new _planning_ skill-set.

1. Why didn't I come for brunch?

I might be able to get away with a "slept in" on that first one. It had never happened, but, I did have a stack of books next to my bed, and I was pretty sure she had no idea that not a single one of them was an all-night page-turner. She might buy that.

2. Why didn't I answer the door?

Obviously, if I was naked I wouldn't answer the door. That was a gimme.

3. Why I was naked?

I needed to stick to my guns about the shower. I just needed to be more convincing about it, because it didn't seem like she was buying it. There was really no less of an embarrassing response for why I was naked. Maybe I could tell her that I was picking out clothes. That could be done naked. _I_ wouldn't ever, but someone might. It could totally happen!

4. Why did I have a hairless cooch?

That was the one that had me freaking out. Not that Alice kept tabs on my personal grooming, but anyone who says they just "really like" being bare down there is a hopeless liar. The hairless cooch screams to anyone within sight of it that it wants a good fucking...that it is, in fact, _anticipating_ it at any minute. If one is not currently involved in a physical relationship, one is definitely planning on some slippery sex soon...possibly alone, but undoubtedly hedging bets for more than solo participation.

Would she buy that I was hoping for such a tryst with the Trust Fund Dummy/Ogre she wanted to set me up with?

Not likely. Plus, I needed to come clean about Edward. I would be a cow worthy of the TFD/O she had planned for me, if I thought for one second that the removal of the restraining order would go unnoticed indefinitely. I was surprised it had slipped her notice for the past few weeks.

No, my luck was about to run out like hot water in the shower.

I suppose my exhibitionist twat should be thanked for forcing the issue. I looked down at her, and imagined she smiled a "you're very welcome" back at me.

I thought about giving her a pat for her troubles, but she'd become a total Edward-whore in the past twenty-four hours, and even cleaning her proved to be impossible without gratification. I wasn't about to send the message that I was at her beck-and-call.

"Bad pussy," I scolded her. "Dry up, and put your Mature Woman of Substance panties on. We've got to deal with Alice...this is no time to be weeping and begging for two shower-gasms in a row...greedy bitch."

I ignored her rationalizations that an orgasm might "take the edge off." That had addiction written all over it.

That reminded me...I was already worried that Edward was nursing his own emerging addiction. _Six times_ in less than twenty-four hours!

I promised her that with an insatiable boyfriend like Edward...fuck...Did I just think _boyfriend_?

That did it.

She hid in her cave, and I told her it was good to know she was a fair-weather friend.

The hot water had already run out while I conversed with my cunt, but interestingly, the coldness of the shower seemed to have had _less_ of an effect on my libido than the potential for a non-theoretical serious relationship.

Also good to know.

I turned it off, stepped out and began to towel-dry.

I realized once I was dry with a towel on my head that I had neither picked out, nor brought into the bathroom even a stitch of clothing...not even a fucking robe for fuck's sake.

I banged my head on the door in front of me, knocking the towel a little off my head and pulling my hair.

"Ow." I said.

"Bella?" Alice asked on the other side.

I grabbed the terry-monster on my head, holding it up and stared at the door.

Fuck. How long had she been there?

Wait. Did she just...she...

"What did you say?" I asked, my hands trying to shake free of my wrists, while my heart threatened to leave my chest and beat somewhere else.

_Traitors,_ I thought while realizing that my body, which I already knew hated my guts, was now _completely_ out of my control. It just did whatever the fuck it wanted without any regard for what my cerebrum dictated.

Alice still hadn't answered.

"Alice?"

"Bella, we need to talk."

"Okay," I croaked. I pulled the towel off my head and wrapped it around my body.

Then I opened the door to find my twin sitting on my bed. Knees together. Hands resting on top. Expression...

Contrite.

I don't think it would be a surprise to anyone that "contrite" has never described Mary-Alice Swan Brandon. Ever.

She was fidgeting with her hands, eyes downcast, but not in a manipulative way. She looked...very uncomfortable. Like she was going into something unprepared.

She was _never_ unprepared.

She couldn't look me in the face, and, I wasn't positive, but...now that I took a moment to look at her, I thought that perhaps she had been crying. Her face was swollen, but not in that weird way it swells when she gets Botox injections.

No.

This was _way_ different.

If I believed in such things as zombies and aliens, I would have thought my sister had been infected or was host to a fully conscious and morally self-righteous parasite.

But I don't believe in those things.

However, I approached her with the restraint of someone who does.

I backed away to my closet, not breaking eye contact, as I fumbled for my robe (If I was going to make a get-away, I wasn't doing it naked and shaved...I'd die first. I totally have my priorities in order.)

I pulled it on and went to my dresser for undies.

Satisfied that at least my tits and ass were covered, I gestured to the door leading out into the hallway. I made her go first.

On second thought, perhaps I should have gone first. It would be difficult to sprint with her in front of me.

But she did nothing suspicious—well, other than looking like she was about to tell me she accidentally threw a kitten in the blender—so I started to make tea, while she sat at the kitchen table and fidgeted.

I would never be the one to start this conversation, so I continued to ignore her as I poured out two cups of chamomile.

I set the cups on the table, pulled out a roll of McVitie's and the honey bear and sat down.

"Um...may I have a spoon?" Alice asked.

"Uh, sure. Sorry," I said.

"S'Okay."

I returned with the spoon, and she fixed her tea.

I opened the cookies and took one.

She took a sip and looked at her mug.

The suspense was killing me, but I was too scared to venture a comment or question. I read her pretty damn well, but she was the most conniving woman I'd ever known (well, other than our mother), and I wasn't sure I could trust her behavior not to belie something sinister.

She reached for a cookie.

I stared at her (hopefully) impassively.

She didn't meet my gaze, so it didn't matter.

She nibbled at the thing for what seemed like an eternity.

Then she sipped her tea some more.

Finally, I couldn't take it.

"I'm going to go change. I'll be right back," I said.

I wasn't about to sit there half dressed while she played mental chess.

I grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I dressed and brushed my hair, so if it dried it wouldn't be a total mess. Then I decided to put it up in a wet bun. I wasn't going anywhere today that would necessitate anything more complicated in the way of dress or hair-do, so why bother?

When I came back, I saw she had moved to the couch, and had her bare feet on the coffee table. She had added more tea to her cup. My cup and the cookies were on the table precariously close to her red toenails.

Edward would have vomited for sure.

I barked a laugh at the direction my thoughts seemed to take now that he was in my life.

Alice looked up at me, confused.

"Sorry...I wasn't laughing at you," I said.

I sat at the opposite end of the couch and waited.

"Okay. I'm not sure exactly where to start..."

All this, and she _still_ didn't have her shit together? Maybe she dropped some puppies in as well...

"How about you start with my name," I suggested, since that was what _I _wanted to know.

"Okay, Jasper called you Bella last night. He said that's what you preferred."

Shit. I hadn't worked out that her knowing that meant that she knew Jasper and I had seen each other last night...which meant that...er wait, what _exactly_ did he tell her?

"What?...I'm confused."

"I know you had dinner with Jasper's family."

"Okaaaay."

Fuck. What did _that_ mean?

Well, _I_ wasn't about to give anything away.

"I know that something happened...he smelled like your perfume and I asked him about it, and he said he hugged you because you were, like, upset or something? I don't know what it was. Jasper said it wasn't his story to tell. And, he wouldn't tell me anything else."

"So, you want _me_ to tell you everything else."

"Not if you don't want to," she said, although I could tell she was dying to know the details. But she seemed sincere that she wouldn't press me.

Okay. I change my mind. I totally believe in aliens now.

"Who are you? And what have you done with Alice?" I asked the stranger in front of me who was also possibly a cookie-monster.

"I'm _me,_" she said, shrugging her shoulders, a few bits of cookie dropping out of her mouth and into her tea.

_Me _is a creepy alien-name.

And what a sloppy alien...No, that was just Alice.

"Okay. But seriously, Alice, what _happened_ to you?"

"Nothing!...Well...Jasper and I talked about you after we had a big blowout last night. He," she let out a breath she had been holding, "he told me that I needed to re-evaluate some of my choices. And I thought a lot about that."

I waited patiently for her to finish.

"Okay. I lied. I really want you to tell me what happened, but I think I need to tell you some things first...um...I'll just start at the end and work backwards..."

She stopped.

Please say she didn't throw in _babies_, too!

"I'm sorry I got the restraining order against Edward Masen."

Oh.

Uh.

Well, Okay.

"I know that you removed it. I found out Friday afternoon, when I called the police to see if there had been any updates to the file. I worried that he might go postal and show up at the station and make a scene or something."

"You _really_ don't understand him at all, do you?" I said.

"Clearly you know him better than me," she said, briefly glancing at my crotch.

"Well, you don't have to be intimately acquainted with the guy to realize that he would never set foot in a police station unless he was being dragged in kicking and screaming," I said defensively.

"Wow...I don't think I've ever heard you say that much...ever."

"Well, I guess we're both new and shiny this morning," I quipped.

"Jasper said he's safe. Do you feel safe with him?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do."

"But, isn't he, like, really _weird_?" she asked conspiratorially.

"Who do you think I am? A nineteen fifties Betty Bakes-a-Lot? Attender of garden parties in desperate need of a Dudley Do-Right?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess...shit,_ Bella_, apparently I don't know you at all."

She rolled her eyes and sipped her tea again.

Then, she grabbed another cookie.

Finally, she continued, "I guess...well, I thought you were just like me, only...more in your head. I thought we were always on the same page...you're just...more independent than me."

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm getting my error...I just...I don't understand how your brain works. Are you _really_ this shy? 'Cause I thought it was an act to keep from having to take responsibility for shit."

"Wow. You are dumber than a box of hammers, you know that?"

Her face turned red, and I think her eyes got a little misty.

"I'm not _stupid_, Bella. I'm just a little self-absorbed."

"A little," I said.

"Okay, a lot," she admitted.

"I'll say."

"Thanks. Thanks a _**lot**_. You know, I came here to apologize to you. The least you could do is—"

"—make it easy on you?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I liked you better when you didn't speak," she said.

"I liked you better when...nope, I got nuthin'," I admitted.

"Jesus, you really _hate_ me?" she asked, suddenly vulnerable, and...wait. Was she manipulating me?

This was my moment. I could not be deterred by her need for ego-petting.

"Well, let's look at your track record, shall we?"

"Let's not. I'm not ready for a list of my shortcomings," she said. "How about I just say what I came to say, and we can table the rest for another day."

I took a breath.

On the one hand, I was afraid I'd never get this opportunity again, and I'd really like the chance to give her a piece of my mind.

On the other hand, I'd _never _get an apology for _anything_ if I just plowed through.

That was _her _M.O.

"Fine. Do it your way. That would just be like always..." Fuck. Who was in my head? I had never behaved so petulantly.

Maybe we had switched brains.

She set her tea down and turned on the couch to face me, and for the first time today, looked me square in the eyes.

"I deserve that. I know," she said. "And you deserve to say all the shit you've kept to yourself for...well, forever, practically."

I nodded.

"But, I'm _trying_, Bella. I want to have an honest and open relationship with you. And I'm almost at my limit for dealing with guilt today. I'd like to bleed some of it off, rather than suck some more in, Okay? I promise you: we _will_ do it. Just not today...Please."

"I said, '_Fine_'."

She rolled her eyes again, but accepted that pissy and silent was the best she could hope for out of me.

"I'm sorry I tried to sell your apartment. I called the Realtor this morning. She's had several offers and there will probably be penalties to pay—"

"—Hmph."

"Which I guarantee you I will cover. I still don't want to sell _this_ place. I don't know what I want to do, but I promise you that you and I will work that out together. I won't go behind your back anymore."

I unfolded my arms that had somehow crossed my chest on their own. I felt compelled to hug her, but I _liked_ breathing, so I just reached out for my mug and started chugging my tea, instead.

"That's all," she finished.

That _wasn't_ all by at least a mile, but it would do for today.

It was a big concession on her part to admit that she had made unethical unilateral decisions, which should have included my participation..._And_ I was getting my apartment back, so that was a bonus.

...And I didn't have to cut a bitch to do it, so that was a _big_ bonus.

"The Power of Attorney gets revoked on Monday," I said.

"How about today?" she said, pulling what I assumed was a revocation out of her bag.

"Just sign here."

"I'll look at it later and bring it in on Monday." _If you think you can control yourself,_ I added in my head.

"OK. Sorry..._again_."

Then, she looked at me expectantly.

Alice had never apologized to me, so I was rusty on the dismount. I finally realized that she wanted an acknowledgment.

"I accept your apology," I said awkwardly. The words felt odd and foreign in my mouth.

And I wasn't positive that they were true, but I figured at this point, she'd be happy to take what she could get.

"So...are you gonna—"

"—_Hells_ no," I said. "If I tell you anything, you'll know who Jasper's family is within twenty-four hours. That's none of your business, Alice. Besides, isn't cousin what's-his-name's divorce almost settled anyway? You can wait a week or two."

"Will you tell me _then_?"

"Maybe," I said.

"Fine. You wanna go get lunch?" she asked.

"Sure," I said.

"Can we go back uptown? Jasper and I are going hiking next week, and there's this outdoor store I want to check out. Marcus Volturi said they have excellent customer service, and I want to make sure I get boots that won't give me blisters."


	16. Chapter 16

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 16**

**Pet Name**

_And we've almost figured out how we'll get along_

_And given time we'll find it strange to be alone and_

_You just forgot your one pet name for me_

_And all those promises you said you'd keep_

_And it's a lucky thing because that sentimental stuff_

_Doesn't suit you at all_

Excerpt from "Pet Name" by TMBG

**EPOV (some time after second nap)**

I woke up without an erection and was happy.

Then, I thought of Bella, and was aching again.

I looked at my penis carefully. There was some redness and it was sore, but it wasn't any worse than when I was a teenager.

_Six times in eighteen hours is too much masturbation,_ I thought.

I rolled out of bed and got dressed, easing my pants carefully over my sore, hardened member.

I had a headache and I was thirsty.

I easily ruled out Type II diabetes, as my frequent ejaculation and lack of proper hydration were the more likely culprits.

My behavior, although completely sanitary, had had multiple negative consequences. I would need to figure out a better way to deal with this...relationship.

I poured myself a glass of water, and drank it all at once. Then I poured another and drank a few sips.

I carried the glass into the living room and pulled the ottoman back in front of the chair. I sat back in it and immediately thought of what Bella had been doing in this chair last night.

I sat up and brought my nose to the place where her ass had rested while she touched herself.

Then I thought of what _assholes_ were for, and almost vomited in my mouth.

Luckily, I couldn't smell her there. This should not have been a surprise to me, but it was.

I sat back putting my feet on the ottoman, glass of water in my hand resting on my knee, and closed my eyes, and tried to forget about her anus and just visualize _her_. Naked, spread open. Her hands. Her face.

My stomach tightened as my penis grew harder. This was very inconvenient, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

I grabbed at my hair above my forehead and pulled. It was something I hadn't done since I was twelve. The stretched skin feeling was soothing and I relaxed into the chair with one hand in my hair, the other holding the glass, but wanting to be somewhere else.

"Fuck," I said aloud. I _had_ to stop this.

I decided that I needed to get out of my apartment if I was going to be able to stop doing _that thing_ that thinking of Bella always necessitated.

I washed the glass in the sink, my hair falling into my eyes. I pushed it out of my face, tugging again as I marched to the bathroom.

I combed my hair carefully, wetting the comb a little first, in order to tame the locks that I'd pulled straight up. I looked at my face carefully to ensure that the red marks from this morning were gone.

I sighed with relief.

I made my way down to Emmett and Rosalie's store. My brother was taking some paying customers on a guided hike up Hunter Mountain, so I thought I would try "hanging out" with Rosalie.

"Hi, Edward," she said, looking up from behind the register where she was helping Jane and Aaron, two of the three college students employed to help out in the store on afternoons and weekends.

They were looking over some paperwork at the counter.

"Hello, Rosalie. Jane. Aaron," I said.

Jane looked up at me and blushed. It made me think of Bella.

This wasn't working out the way I had planned.

"Hi, Edward," she said.

"Hey, Ed!" Aaron said. "What's up?"

"I just came downstairs to hang_ out_."

I tried to say the phrase as unstudied as possible.

"Saturdays can get really busy, Edward," Rosalie warned. "I don't know if today's the best choice. Although, I'm pleased to see you've emerged from your cave. How's Bella?" she asked, smirking at what, I had no idea.

"She's very well. I spoke with her on the phone just a few hours ago."

"Who's Bella?" Jane asked.

"Edward's...OK, Ed, what's your "relationship status'?" Rosalie asked.

"We still haven't defined it precisely. But she said she likes me more than like, and that she doesn't want to hate me, so I am to check with her before purchasing laptops and well, I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to get her opinion about, so I'll probably just ask her about everything that involves her, to be safe. Oh, and I've been party to two orgasms, that were—"

"—that's enough! I think we have an idea. Thank you," Rosalie said.

I noticed that Jane's shoulders were more rounded and she had stopped smiling. That was odd. She was _always_ smiling. I wanted to ask what it was, but that was the sort of thing Rosalie was always saying I _shouldn't _do.

"So, do you have any statistical or accounting-related projects I can work on this afternoon?" I asked, hoping to be given_ something_ to focus on other than planning methods for obtaining a naked and sexually-sated Bella.

"Not today, but," Rosalie said, pulling a box from the floor behind her, "how would you feel about sorting these stickers? I've got to go over paperwork for Jane and Aaron's climbing wall instructor re-certifications and I'm expecting a post-lunch-weekend-rush any minute."

"Sure," I said. "Just..." I thought about doing the sorting without my gloves. I had almost resigned to give it a try, when I remembered that Rosalie once got a paper cut while sorting stickers. "I need to run upstairs and get my gloves. Is that OK?"

"Yeah, that's fine. As a matter of fact, you can work at Emmett's desk back here, if you want. His laptop is upstairs, so the area is clear."

"Good. I'll only be a moment," I said and headed back to my apartment.

I wanted to call Bella and ask her to come over, or to meet me at a library, or perhaps take a walk. I didn't usually like taking walks, but I could imagine doing it with her, and the thought made me smile.

Instead, I wrote in my victory journal that I wanted to walk with her, and I added that I had forgotten to take my gloves with me.

I pulled out a fresh pair, and headed back downstairs.

Before I walked in at the back entrance, I thought I heard her voice. My heart rate picked up pace and I realized that I was excited. Was she visiting _me_?

I moved quickly through the doorway in her direction.

She stood in front of the display of hiking boots talking to a short woman with dark hair who was directing Jane about which pairs of boots she wanted to try.

Bella turned before I could call out to her, and looked at me with saucer-shaped eyes. She shook her head slowly and swallowed.

I wasn't positive what her meaning was, but she seemed...frightened? I recalled images of mammals with wide eyes, and felt confident in my assessment.

I decided to back up, and gauged from her reaction that this is what she wanted; her face relaxed more the further I moved from her.

Why would she be afraid of me?

The other woman noticed that Bella was not paying attention.

"Bella!" she said. "Hey, what do you think?"

"What?" she said, turning away from me. "Oh, um, I like them, Alice."

_Alice_ was Bella's sister. Hm. Perhaps she was afraid _for_ me? Was Alice a threat?

"Psst. Come here!" Rosalie hissed from somewhere behind me. "Edward!"

I turned to see her peering around the doorway of the storage room.

"What is it?" I whispered, joining her where she stood concealed by some empty boxes.

Emmett told me once that if someone whispers _to_ me, I should _always _whisper back. He said my very life could depend on it. I trusted him and never questioned the rationale.

"That is Bella's sister, Alice!" she said.

"I know. That's what Bella called her. Why are we whispering?" I asked.

"Because she's also Jasper's _wife_...So, Bella asked me to keep you from talking about Jasper or the dinner last night."

"Jasper is Alice's husband?"

"Yes."

"So, Alice isn't supposed to know who we are to Jasper."

"Exactly," Rosalie said.

"How did _you_ know?"

"I figured it out last night. Jasper made me promise not to tell anyone, but I figured it was OK to tell you and Emmett."

"Wait. How did you talk to Bella without Alice finding out?"

"Bella asked if I could show her to the restroom."

"You don't _have_ a restroom down here."

"She didn't actually need to go, Edward."

"Then why?—"

"—So she could talk to me without Alice knowing."

Oh.

"So—"

"—So, they came in, and Bella shook her head at me, like she did with you, and I played along."

"Hm. I may I speak to her?"

"Yeah."

"_And _Alice?"

"I don't know, she didn't say for you _not_ to come out, just to keep your mouth shut about Jasper and dinner last night."

"What do I say we did?"

"You _don't_. You act like you didn't see her last night."

"Why?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "You need to trust me and get out there. This is going to look weird to the other customers and employees."

"Why?" I asked.

"Are you seriously _this_ curious?" she asked.

"I don't understand that question. I'm not more nor less—"

"—Please shut up, Edward, and get out there if you want to see Bella today."

"OK," I said and followed Rosalie out.

I wanted to walk right up to Bella, but I was already following Rosalie. Was I _supposed_ to walk over to her? Should I stand behind the counter and look like I worked here?

I was uncomfortable with the dishonesty of my actions, and I hadn't even spoken, yet. I could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of my face. I wondered if Jasper and Bella were this uncomfortable last night.

I only hesitated for a moment, then followed Rosalie to the counter and waited for Bella to make eye contact.

She didn't.

I felt impatient again, so when Jane stepped away from them to help another customer, I moved out into the store, walking confidently to where she was standing discussing the fit of a pair of Eagle Origins with her sister, who had...well, incredibly large feet. I stared at them in amazement as she laced up, wondering if perhaps she'd just requested a size or three too big.

"Excuse me," Alice said to me, an eyebrow arched. "Do you actually work here, or are you just a creepy asshole with a foot fetish?"

"No, I don't work here, and clearly, I am a human being." I said, putting my hands on my chest for emphasis. "I have never thought about whether or not I have a foot fetish. I have other problems that are far more severe than the sexual adoration of pedal extremities."

I looked away from Alice to find Bella, with her face as red as the day I met her. Her lips had moved from their typical wide parabolic shape, to a straight horizontal line. I was unfamiliar with this expression.

"Who the Christmas fuck are _you_?" Alice asked.

"Alice," Bella said, causing her disproportionate sister to look up at her, "this is Edward...Masen."

"Oh. My. **GOD.** You..._this _is the freak-show you've been seeing behind my back? This guy? Bella, he's got fucking latex gloves on!"

I looked at Bella and she was grinning.

"I know, Alice."

Then she winked at me.

What did that mean? I cocked my head to the side inquisitively.

"Isabella Swan, I really want to trust that you are not making a huge fucking mistake right now, but this guy, Please forgive me, guy...I mean, _Edward_, he looks like a fucking _nimrod_! I mean, look at that comb-over! Who would wear their hair like that in public unless they were auditioning for Mad Men?

"I _like_ it, Alice," Bella said.

I was worried about Bella's sister. It was obvious that she had difficulty processing visual stimuli. She had confused me with an anus _and_ the possible historic Gilgamesh. No wonder she got the restraining order. I shuddered to think what she saw when she glimpsed the written word.

Perhaps Dr. Cullen could recommend a neurologist.

"OK. I understand that he's hot, comb-over notwithstanding, but he's hanging out in a _store_, staring at my _feet_! Wearing those _fucking __**gloves**_! This is not the kind of man you can bring to _brunch_, Bella! This is the guy you drop off at the psych ward on your way to meet a _**real man**_!"

"Alice," Bella said.

"_**What**_**?**" she replied.

"Please don't...I mean, _don't_ _talk_ like that. It's mean...and I...I _**don't like it**__!_" Bella's hands were in fists at her sides, her eyes wide and shining.

I looked from her to Alice and back, wondering if there was something I should do.

Alice's looked away to the floor.

I looked at Bella, hoping she would help me understand what had just happened.

Or, perhaps she didn't know about her sister's condition!

"Bella, please don't yell at your sister. I think she has a neurological problem."

Alice looked up at me. The set of her mouth, furrowed brows and red face suggested anger. "I don't _have_ a problem _**asshole**_!"

I pointed at Alice and said, "See, she can't properly process visual stimuli. She looks at me and her brain sees an anus. This could have serious consequences—"

"—**What?**" Alice got up, and Bella quickly put her arms around her sister, restraining her.

Some people, I've been told, react violently when they are first told they have a medical problem. The symptoms are there, but they repress knowledge of them, so they can feel normal. Dr. Cullen has explained it to me many times.

"Alice," Bella said in a low and, I noted, a somehow _non_-sexy, tone, "Edward is not making fun of you. He just doesn't understand sarcasm. He thinks you're being straight with him. He doesn't even know that you're being a total bitch, OK? So, don't freak out. I'll explain it to him.

"Can I let you go?" Bella asked Alice, which seemed odd to me.

How could Alice control her sister's actions so completely that Bella had to get Alice's permission to let her go?

"Yeah," Alice said.

"Edward," Bella said, closing the distance between us. My penis reacted to her proximity.

I liked it.

"Remember when we talked about sarcasm this morning?"

"Yes. I don't understand it."

"Right. Well, Alice uses it a lot. She doesn't have a disorder...well, that _kind_ of disorder," she said, her eyelids lowering to slits as she glanced sideways at her sister.

"She's just mean, sometimes. So, just ignore her, OK? She's had a rough twenty-four hours, and I think she's been thoroughly mind-fucked, er...mind-fucked means...shit, how do I explain _that_?" she said to the ceiling.

I looked up with her.

"It means, Edward," Alice said, "That everything I thought I understood is wrong. You were right. I saw stuff and misinterpreted it. I just thought you were being an asshole—I mean, I thought you were being mean to _me_ by sarcastically telling me that I had a brain disorder."

"Mind-fuck," I said. "I understand the mind part, but how could fucking lead to one suddenly understanding the world differently?"

"He's practically a virgin," Bella explained to Alice.

"Ohhhhh," she said. "Humph. Well, good luck with _that_. You really _will_ mind-fuck him," she said with a smirk.

"Oh, she already has," I said. "I just never had a word in my vocabulary to describe it. I think that Dr. Cullen will find it very interesting when I discuss it with him. Well, if he'll see me, that is."

"You're going to see Dr. Cullen again?" Bella asked. "I thought everything was going well."

"Well, it is and it's not. It's actually very confusing. Probably a result of the thorough mind-fucking I've received."

I smiled at her and felt compelled to wink. I did, and then realized that a wink was a shared moment of understanding between people who have a secret shared experience.

Fascinating.

Bella grinned back. She understood!

Success!

"I don't mean to interrupt this "mind-sex" you're having, but I need to buy some fucking shoes. Would you two take your geek-gasm somewhere else?" Alice said.

I did as Bella suggested and ignored her ridiculous verbiage. Why one would wear hiking boots to have sex was beyond my understanding. On second thought, perhaps she needed good traction. Considering that, I would have recommended running shoes. They are much lighter.

Bella reached out for my hand and squeezed it.

"Would you like to take a walk with me, Bella Swan?" I asked.

"I would like that very much, but I'm actually here with Alice." She laughed and said quietly, "I should try to set a good example, be the adult here and wait for her to finish."

I reached out and touched a strand of hair that had fallen in her face, tucking it behind her ear. She leaned into my hand.

The responsiveness of our bodies to each other was something that continued to fascinate me, despite the fact that I understood intellectually why it occurred.

Just touching her in this gentle, non-sexual way, and her responding was enough to bring thoughts of fucking her to mind. I wondered if her thoughts were similar.

"Are you thinking about fucking me, Bella?" I asked.

She giggled. "Yeah. That's exactly what I was thinking. I'm just surprised _you _call it that."

"Yes, I know I shouldn't be so crass, but thinking the word "fucking," as opposed to "having sex with," has always aroused me, even as a teenager. I don't mean to be disrespectful."

"I don't think you are," she said.

"I haven't kissed you today," I noted.

"You should rectify that immediately, Edward Masen," she said grinning and looking up at me with half-opened eyes. They reminded me of a pin-up picture I saw in one of Emmett's sex magazines. I remembered other times I'd seen this look on her face.

It was the face of arousal. The realization made me hard.

I leaned in to kiss her and she met me half way. It was jarring and unexpected, but also pleasant.

I pulled her lower lip into my mouth. I wasn't sure why, but it seemed like the thing to do.

My arms instinctively had moved to her back, and she mirrored my behavior, rubbing mine gently while we tasted each other.

My penis strained against my pants. I could feel her belly pressed up against it. I resisted the urge to move my hips into her further.

She moaned, and I stopped resisting. Then she moaned again.

By now, our kiss had turned into a simulation of eating and fucking. There was tasting, biting, nibbling, sucking, swallowing, grinding, gripping and squeezing.

It was wonderful.

"Ahem," Alice said.

"Go away, Alice," Bella spoke against my mouth.

I started kissing her jaw and neck to give her space to have a proper conversation.

I wasn't about to stop kissing her.

""Bella, this is _not_ the proper location for making out. You're right in front of the window and tourists are stopping on the street to watch. Fuck, someone's got their phone out to take a picture—_**move**_**!**"

"Come on, Edward, let's stop for now."

I had been running my nose along the edge of her earlobe, smelling her hair and her skin. My eyelids drooped, but I wasn't sleepy.

We pulled away from each other, but continued to hold hands as we moved toward the register.

Rosalie was there waiting. She bit her lip and snorted when she glanced at my crotch.

However, she politely didn't mention it and looked up, smiling at me and Bella.

Then she said to Bella and Alice, "Hi, I'm Edward's sister-in-law, Rosalie."

Bella held out her hand, "I'm glad to meet you officially...finally. Edward has told me a lot about you," Bella said. I knew this was a lie, but I tried to control my face. I knew _why_ she was lying.

"Likewise," Rosalie said.

"Nice to meet you!" Alice said, dropping the boots on the counter, and hesitating before shaking Rosalie's offered hand.

"Did you know they were dating?" Alice asked.

Rosalie looked at Bella before replying, "Well, it's pretty obvious from their behavior, isn't it?"

"Yeah, they're..." she looked at both of us in turn before saying, "pretty wrapped up in each other, aren't they?"

"Yes, I can't stop thinking about her naked," I commented, looking down into Bella's eyes. "Especially after last night," and I leaned down to kiss her.

"_**What?**_"


	17. Chapter 17

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 17**

**No!**

_Finger pointing eyebrows low_

_Mouth in the shape of the letter o_

_Pardon me—no—excuse me—no—_

_May I stay can I go—no no no_

Excerpt from "No!" by TMBG

**BPOV**

Ohhhh, Kitten-Fucker.

I closed my eyes, wanting to imagine myself anywhere but in this store, hell, even Higgin's Moon would be better, but the Alice-shit was about to hit the fan. So, of course I had to focus on _that_.

"When _exactly_ did you and Edward share this special moment?" Alice asked, squinting at Edward, while Rosalie deftly ran her credit card.

"_After_ dinner," I answered defensively. "...somewhere _else_!"

Edward gripped my hand tightly, and was watching me as though he expected me to be swept away by the rising shit-storm any second.

"Really," Alice said. She turned to look at Rosalie with her kick-ass lawyer-face.

Rose was pushing the credit card receipt across the counter for her to sign.

"I'm sorry, but do we know each other from somewhere? You look _awfully _familiar,"Alice said.

"I don't think so," Rosalie replied, cocking her head to the side and staring at Alice impassively.

"Where did you go to college?" she asked not taking her eyes away.

"NYU," Rose said, not breaking the gaze, either.

"Hm. High school?"

"Oh, I'm from the South. You've never heard of it, I'm sure," Rose said smiling sweetly, staring a hole through Alice's head.

_Abort! Abort!_

I tried to give Rose the universal sign for "murder ahead" by subtly sliding my index finger across my neck.

It was useless; she was caught in Alice's lawyer-gaze.

"Neat!" Alice said, feigning giddy interest, "What state?"

Rose said, "Maryland."

_Whew!_

I didn't care if it was a lie or what, but I was just relieved that she didn't say "Texas."

"Oh," Alice said, disappointed, finally focusing on signing the receipt after rolling her eyes. "Well, maybe it will come to me."

"Yeah, this is a small town. I'm sure we've seen each other around," Rose joked lamely.

"Right," Alice said finally handing the signed receipt back to Rose.

We moved away from the counter, toward the door, and Alice turned back to face me and Edward.

"So, Edward," Alice said, using _that _stare on Edward. "What is it that you do for a living?"

Of course he was totally insusceptible to Alice's brand of manipulation, so he gazed at her briefly and nonchalantly before returning his gaze to me.

"I develop computer systems for the legal industry," he answered, studying my hair.

I think.

I couldn't make eye contact. I was too busy desperately reading Alice's expression.

"What do you mean?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest. Was she trying to determine his net worth, or what?

He glanced at her briefly again before returning his attention back to me.

"I help integrate various functions within a business to increase productivity between departments. Generally, the system pays for itself in the consolidation of jobs."

"Interesting. Who do you work for?" Alice asked narrowing her eyes.

"Green Hills Integrated Systems," Edward said.

"Are they listed?" She asked raising her eyebrow.

Edward needed no explanation for _that_, apparently, "Their parent company has made Forbes Five Hundred five years running," Edward said.

"Bottom?" she asked.

"Top Ten," he said.

Satisfied that Edward worked for a viable company, and wouldn't be a burden on my trust fund, she moved on to the next item on her Edward Interrogation List.

"So what else do you do when you aren't stalking my sister?" she asked.

"OK! That's enough!" I said, not wanting to expose Edward to any more of her venom.

"Yes, I suppose it is," she said, sounding bored. "Listen, I'm going to head home. You are welcome to come with me, Bella, but I won't be offended if you want to hang out here with Edward. Honest."

She smiled, but her eyes had the lazy lids of boredom, so I figured she really wouldn't mind the absence of my company.

"I'm staying with Edward," I said.

"I will make sure she takes a taxi home," Edward said.

"Fine," Alice said and turned on her heel with her shoes and left.

"So," Edward said, turning back to me "How about that walk?"

~~§•§~~

Edward was viciously opposed allowing street food vendors in his neighborhood, but he was overruled by progress. So, we had kept away from the busy thoroughfares on our walk. That suited me just fine. I told him I wasn't a fan of street food either, but that had more to do with not wanting to give my order in front of any stranger who might be passing by.

Edward and I rambled around his and Alice's neighborhood for several hours. He showed me where Dr. Cullen's office was, the library he occasionally visited and the building where he and Esme used to live.

He told me about how he and Emmett met and became friends and brothers; how Esme had rescued them from the boys home when they were teenagers. He told me about his mother; that she was an artist and a writer, but that she had rarely left the house. I finally understood where his OCD originated.

I showed him Alice's building and the little coffee shop we used to go to after she moved in, which we still visit on Sundays at least once a month. I told him that when our parents were alive, she would come down to TriBeCa and we would pop over to Chinatown for dim sum on Sundays.

Then, Edward asked me about my parents.

Well, sort of. What he said was, "Forgive me, Bella, but could you tell me how your parents died? Did they get sick?"

"No...um, car crash...They, um, were driving to Belleayre. There had been an ice storm."

I didn't add that they were only on that icy road because Mother had _insisted_ they go.

"Dad took a turn too fast and..."

I made a sliding motion with my hand, although, from what I remembered of the wreckage, it was more likely end-over-end.

"No seatbelts on," I added.

Edward listened to my speech standing in front of me, holding my hands watching my face carefully. His brow was furrowed.

"Do you miss them?" he asked.

"I miss my dad sometimes," I said. "But Mother...I was," I blew out some air and re-filled my lungs. "I don't know exactly how to say this..."

I looked up at Edward's face. He was so curious for information, to _want_ to understand. He wasn't asking me because he was making conversation or just curious for every salacious detail. No, he just wanted to understand _me_. He knew that losing a parent (or two) was a life-changing experience, and he wanted to know how I coped.

Well, I couldn't say for certain, but it seemed like the kind of thing he'd want to know.

Hell, he'd probably let me know exactly what he wanted to know.

He still hadn't spoken, so I started walking again to give me some time before I finished my thought aloud.

Finally, a few silent blocks later, I said, "I'm glad she's dead, Edward...I didn't even pretend to cry for her," I snorted. "But then Alice cried enough for the both of us."

I didn't remember much from that week. I hid in my old room until the funeral, then hid behind Alice and Angela for a few hours, then hid in my apartment, while Alice held court at our parents' place. After it was all over, she had me move back in. She said it was the least I could do, since I was useless during the funeral.

I looked at Edward. His brow was still furrowed with concern.

He sighed, and finally decided to speak. "I don't think I understand why you didn't grieve for her," Edward said. "I know that you are a thoughtful and caring person, so it is only logical that your mother must have done _something_ for you to deny her that."

"Hm. Maybe?...I guess. I mean, I _know_ she didn't love me in the way I needed...You know, by supporting me and my choices." I sighed, "She only supported the ones that she made for me.

"Listen, I don't want to talk about my mother, Edward. She was a manipulative _bitch_...I know it's a terrible thing for a child to say, but the only thing I felt when she was gone was relief."

My mouth was dry with all the heaving and talking. It was always exhausting.

"Did she support Alice's choices?" Edward asked, seeming to ignore my speech about how much I hated my mother.

"Yes...But Alice did everything she was told to do. She was the perfect child."

"So, Alice never made any of her own choices, then? Or..."

"No."

Mother groomed her to become an attorney and take over her practice. And that's exactly what Alice did. I suppose the only thing Alice ever dared to do without Mother's approval was to refuse to marry. I'm still surprised she married Jasper.

"But you did," Edward said.

"What?" I asked, having gotten lost in my thoughts.

"You made you're own choices," he observed.

"Yeah, well..it didn't matter," I said with an eye roll.

"I don't understand," Edward said.

I had a thousand stories that I could tell him about how my choices were moot; when Mother would walk all over me: how she changed my class schedule in college, how she read my journal in middle school, how she rolled her eyes and spoke over me when I didn't respond fast enough, or in the way she expected me to respond.

But what I told him was, "When we were kids, we had to go to camp every summer."

I looked up at him to see his reaction. He was impassive.

"Did you ever go to camp?" I asked.

"No, it's not sanitary," he replied.

"Hm. Well, Mother called it her 'vacation' from child-rearing." I used air quotes so he would know I was speaking metaphorically. He nodded and I continued. "I, um,...I hated it. The socializing, games—ugh...boys chasing me with frogs—and waking up with toothpaste in my hair. It was a torturous experience for me."

Edward nodded with understanding. Of course he would understand _that_.

"Anyway, when I was ten," I coughed, feeling an odd lump of something dry and painful in my throat, "I begged not to go...I _promised_ they wouldn't even know I was there, if I could just _stay home_."

Edward's brow furrowed. He squeezed my hand.

"Mother said OK. Alice still wanted to go...um...then...see...OK, my dad had to travel out of state for a deposition, so Mother said I had to ride with her to take Alice to camp.

"We arrive, and she pulls out Alice's suitcase..." I knew my face was red. Edward stopped and stood in front of me again. He touched my cheeks with his fingertips, as if he could melt the blush away.

Somehow he did. I felt better, just with him touching me, knowing that he was with me, trying to understand.

"Then," I coughed again, "then she pulled out _mine_."

Edward looked at me incredulously. If I had been telling anyone else this story, they would have already known where we were headed, but Edward lived in a world of honesty. Lies would always hit him this way.

I immediately felt compelled to protect him from that shit, but that was impossible, now. He needed to understand more than he needed to be protected.

He spoke: "But you just said she told you that you could stay at home!"

"Well, apparently she had already paid for camp, and they wouldn't give her a refund, so I had to stay...at least that's what she told me," I said.

"That is inconsistent with what she said earlier! Why didn't she tell you _before_?"

Edward was getting quite upset. He had let go of my hand and had taken a fist full of hair, pulling at it as if he were playing tug-of-war with his own head.

I was suddenly worried that I'd chosen the wrong story to demonstrate why I hated my mother. On the other hand, I wanted to give him an opportunity to understand her logic, so I pushed ahead.

"Alice told me later that Mother said I was being whiny, and she just wanted some peace and quiet before camp started. That's why she lied."

Edward's face fell at that. He could understand on some level, just as I had, that though she was evil, she was always practical. It was always difficult to argue with her logic. That's why I never tried.

"I understand why you didn't love her," Edward said finally.

"You do?"

"Yes. I think so. We love people with whom we share a bond of understanding and friendship, people who we trust and care for. It is best when it is reciprocated, when we know the other person feels the same way."

I wondered if Edward was quoting a textbook, or one of the usual suspects. I smiled at him. Knowing Edward, he was probably paraphrasing Dr. Cullen again.

"You didn't have that with your mother. She was selfish and dishonest. I don't mean any disrespect, but I can't imagine anyone loving someone who behaves that way," he said.

"I don't know if you are right, or not, Edward, but that makes sense to me," I said with a laugh.

"Bella?" he said. "I want you to know that I would never abuse your trust in that way."

"I know Edward," I said.

"I would also never ask to drive to the mountains after an ice storm, and I would always wear my seat belt and require that you do the same."

I grinned at him. "Edward?" I asked.

"Yes, Bella?"

"I can promise you that I will _never_ ask you to drive me to the mountains."

"Good," he said and blowing out a large gulp of air. "I glimpsed mountain mortality rates once; they are comparable to other those for dangerous activities like boxing and hang-gliding. So, I don't think I'd feel comfortable in the mountains."

He took my hand and we continued our walk.

Edward suggested we go to the library. It was only five blocks from our current location, and would lead us back to his apartment. He looked wistful when he said he wanted to head toward his home.

Then, Edward's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Excuse me, Bella. Is it OK if I check this message?" He asked politely.

I nodded.

He read the message and pulled at his hair. "Hm. Do you have a friend named Angela?"

"Yes," I said.

He showed me the text:

**From **_**Unknown to Edward A Masen**_**: **_Hi, this is Bella's BFF Angela. Got # from Alice, from ur ltr. Tonite is last night Eclipse. Please come! Both of U! 7-11 Eclipse on Wooster. HTSYT! Ang _

Angela was reminding me that tonight was the last night Ben's work would be showing. I had promised I would go before it closed.

I had meant to go in the middle of the week.

Now, it was likely that there would be a crowd.

I turned to Edward: "My friend Angela invited us...I need to go to see her husband Ben's show. He's a photographer. It's in SoHo. Would you like to go with me?"

"I don't think it would be practical to walk that far, Bella," Edward said.

"Um, well, we'd have to take the subway," I said. "Or we could take a taxi."

"I don't ride the subway and a taxi is even worse," he said with a shudder. "How about you come home with me, instead?"

He'd pulled me close and kissed me. I got lost in the urgency of his lips and hands. When I was with Edward, it was somehow easy to forget there were other people around, staring, judging.

However, rationality came back with a vengeance, requiring my full attention.

I pulled away, but his lips followed me. I put my hands on his chest, and he got the message.

"Edward, I can't. I mean, I'd kind of _rather_ go with you, but I promised Angela, and...I missed her wedding because I avoid shit like this all the time. I want to be a better friend, and I would _really_ like for you to go with me."

Edward looked conflicted.

"You can wear your gloves, and you don't have to touch anything," I said. Hell, knowing some of the people Ben hung out with, they'd probably think it was some kind of kinky fashion statement or performance art.

I noticed sweat trickling down from his hairline.

"Are you Okay, Edward?"

"Yes. I'm just worried that I won't be able to handle it."

"I think you can do it, Edward," I said, thinking all he probably needed was a little encouragement. He'd improved so much already. "I'll change at Alice's and meet you back at your place. You just grab that hot as fuck tweed blazer and a fresh pair of gloves and you'll be good-to-go."

"I don't own a—"

"—yes you do. It's that one you were wearing the night I met you," I said.

His eyes brows shot up. "Hot as fuck? Does that mean that it makes you think of fucking me?"

I laughed and started walking away from him to hide my blush. He caught to me, and I answered his question.

"Yes. You wear that and I guarantee; you won't have a chance to think about the subway."

He seemed to warm up to the idea, "Will you allow me to rub my penis against your thigh? Let me clarify, I _will _still be clothed. I wouldn't risk getting put in jail for indecent exposure."

"Hm. I'll tell you what, I'll even allow you to run your latex-covered hands up my skirt to find out what kind of underwear I have on today," I said eying him sideways.

Edward didn't speak, but stopped mid-stride and turned me to face him. He cupped my chin and kissed me roughly, his tongue crashing against my own. We stood there for several moments, arms around each other, just making out in the street...again.

It was all I could do to keep my pants on. At this rate, I'd be better off dropping my wet panties in the trash can and going commando..._Oooh, that's a great idea_, I thought.

We were interrupted by our designated cock-block, Edward's phone; no doubt it was another text from Angela demanding an answer.

Between persistent kisses, he said we should ignore it and go back to his place together.

I told him I was very tempted, but this was important to me.

Finally, I pulled away, and he pulled out his phone.

Edward saved Angela as a new contact and sent her a text back:

**From Edward A Masen to Angela Cheney: **_Bella and I would be happy to attend. Thank you for the invitation. _

We reluctantly, and with several more kisses and entreaties from Edward that we go back to his place, parted ways at the subway entrance where I first spied him. I promised him I would see him soon.

But I didn't see him again that night.

~~§•§~~

Getting a skirt and top from Alice to wear was easy. There was very little of Alice's that I would even consider putting on my body in the first place, so once she realized that some designer is better than no designer, I was dressed and on my way.

Edward said he would eat with Rosalie and I was welcome to join him, but I figured it would be more efficient to eat at Alice's while she was going through her wardrobe, finding for something for me to wear.

Plus, it was a good excuse to avoid her.

She had been staring insistent questions at me since I stepped in the door. I knew she wanted to ask about my "date" with Edward last night, and was probably well on her way to working out how all this was connected. But part of our truce from earlier today was that she would butt-out of my personal life unless invited, and she seemed to be honestly trying to keep her word.

Plus, I'd already revoked the POA. It's not like she could do much other than ask questions and piss me off.

Jasper was back at the office this evening. My guess was that he wanted to avoid Alice's questions as much as I did.

I was a little worried about him, though, because he had more to lose than me. And he'd risked it all when he stayed at that dinner.

I made a mental not as I walked the last block, that I would do something to thank him for all he'd done.

Smiling, I stepped up to Edward's building and pressed the call button.

"_Bella?_" he asked.

"Yes, it's me," I said.

"_I'm sorry, but I can't go with you tonight."_

What. The. _Fuck_? "Um, can I come up?" I asked, my voice a bit shrill, but trying desprately to hide the hurt and embarrassment from having to have this conversation on the sidewalk.

"Okay," he buzzed me in.

I was so upset that I forgot to be careful as I ran up the stairs, tripping repeatedly in Alice's massive shoes. She'd insisted they didn't look too big for my feet, while cinching up the straps so they would stay on, but there was still a good half-inch of shoe in front of my toe, and it seemed like I caught the edge of every fucking stair to the third floor.

When I arrived at his door, both knees were cut and bleeding, my left elbow was scrapped and I was sure I had bruises all over my right arm from hooking it around the railing as I tried—often unsuccessfully—to save my knees each time I fell.

I knocked on Edward's door.

There was a moment of silence and then I heard something make contact with the door.

It didn't open, but a tentative voice came through: "Bella?"

"Yeah," I said impatiently.

"I can't let you in," he said. "I'm sorry, but I have some tasks I absolutely _must_ finish right away."

He sounded frantic.

"What?" I asked, voice echoing in the empty hallway. I looked around to see if there was anyone else within earshot. I noticed the garbage chute, and wondered if I would fit in it. I didn't think I could get any _more_ banged up than I already was, so it might be worth a shot.

"I am very sorry, Bella," he said from the other side of the door. I heard a banging noise and then Edward swore.

"Is this about the subway, Edward?" I asked.

"Yes, but it's not your fault," he shouted from farther away.

I banged my head against the door. "_Please_ let me in so we can talk about it, Edward," I tried again.

There was no more noise.

An old lady came out of her apartment with a small, rat-like dog.

She smiled at me and headed to the stairs. I refused to make eye contact and instead hid in my hair.

Then, inspiration struck.

"Edward, I'm going to get Rosalie. I'll be right back."

I crossed the hall and knocked.

Oh, newborn kittens, what the _fuck_ was I supposed to say to her?

_Rose! Remember me? I masturbated with your brother-in-law last night and this morning, then made out with him in your store. Now, he won't even talk to me, and I'd like your help to get him on the subway so we can dry hump in public._

"Bella!" she said, answering the door. She immediately noticed my knees. "Oh, my god! What happened to you?"

"Uh," I said. I picked up a foot and held it out for her perusal.

"Fuck, those are some tragic shoes," she said. "Come in."

She closed the door behind us and said, "Where's Edward?"

I thumbed back to the door.

She turned and looked.

"He won't let you in? Because of the blood on your legs?"

"No...I don't think he could see it," I said.

"Then what's his problem?" she asked. "Hang on, let me get some shit to take care of you. Have a seat."

She gestured to a bench near the door.

I sat down and wondered why Edward wouldn't even _see_ me. Was he thinking of breaking up with me?

Wait, was _that_ what we were doing?

I wasn't sure. We hadn't had a single interaction that I would normally define as a "date."

Our walk this afternoon felt more like open-plan therapy than any kind of date I'd ever been on, and the dinner...well, that was more like trial by fire.

Actually, that was exactly like a date...I even had to dress and do the walk of shame after.

I laughed inwardly at the irony when realized it was the best "Date B" I'd ever had.

Rosalie came back with a first aid kit. She didn't say anything or ask any questions as she started cleaning my knees.

"I asked Edward to ride the subway with me to SoHo," I said.

"Oh," she said. "That would do it."

"Do what?"

"Cause him to hole up in his apartment. When he gets like that we just have to hope he has enough food in his kitchen to survive for a couple weeks. Of course, it hasn't happened in a while."

I felt the unspoken _Congratulations for fucking up his equanimity!_

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Not your fault," Rosalie said.

"That's what he said."

"Well, that's because we've been telling him that for years," she said looking me square in the eye in that unsettling way that Jasper has.

Impossible to break, it was terrifying and calming at the same time.

"He knows it's his problem, not ours. You asked him, and he could have just said, 'No thanks.'

"Let me guess, he tried to talk you out of it, and you went back and forth, and then he said, 'Okay!'"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes he pushes himself, which is good. But sometimes he pushes himself too far...and then we're standing outside his door threatening to call the cops or the landlord, depending on whether or not he has his gun," she said.

"Why does he have a gun?" I asked_...with raging fear._

"Don't worry. It's never loaded," she said. "He just freaks out and...okay, see, he saw someone with a gun on TV once. I don't remember when it was. Emmett said he asked if people really ran away from people with guns and Emmett said, 'hell yeah!' and next thing we knew, Eddy was packing heat."

"Does he have it now?" I asked.

"No, Emmett got it from him. I'm pretty sure he won't be getting it back," she snorted. "This is a big deal. Well, it is if he won't let Emmett in when he gets home."

"Why?" I asked.

"You know, you and Ed are a lot alike," she laughed. "Curious to a fault. You need to talk to Edward about that, or Emmett, but not me.

"Hey, you want my advice?" she asked.

"Okay," I said.

"Go home. I'll give you some house shoes of mine. They have excellent tread and won't flop around and cause you to trip. When you get there, give him a call. If he answers, talk to him. Tell him _exactly_ why his behavior was unacceptable. I don't know about you, but I refuse to stand in the hall and have a conversation with him through his door. It's fucking embarrassing."

I reached out and hugged Rosalie.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I was a little choked up, which was odd for me, but Rosalie just gave me advice that empowered me instead of making me feel stupid and useless. I wish I had known her when I was younger. Why couldn't Alice be like this?

"It's not you," Rosalie said, a little choked up herself. "You are lovely. He is a sick man, Bella. He's getting better, but he's got some weird shit in his head sometimes."

"Okay," I managed to choke out.

"Here," she said, handing me a tissue. "Hey, would you like for me to call you a cab?"

"Yes, that would be great."

She left and was back in a flash, "Edward's on the phone, he buzzed in while I was dialing. Here, take this and I'll call the taxi on my cell."

"Edward!"

"_Bella?_"

I waited.

"_I'm sorry I couldn't go tonight._"

"Why didn't you tell me before we split up?" I said, embarrassed, even though I'd already admitted everything to Rose.

"_Well, when I'm with you, I feel like I can do anything," _he said. _"But when you left me, I started thinking. You remember me saying that I needed to see Dr. Cullen again?_"

"Yeah."

"_Well, I just called him. I'm going to see him on Wednesday. I think I'm going to stay home until then. I don't feel comfortable leaving my apartment. I mean, I know it's probably OK, but...I just don't feel comfortable leaving right now."_

"Edward, I'm really sorry to hear that. Especially after you told Angela that we would be there. Now she's going to worry."

"_Oh no!" _Edward said, _"I'm so sorry, Bella, I forgot about that. I'll text her right away. I'll explain everything—"_

"—um, I'm not sure if that's a good idea. I mean, text her, sure, but don't, uh, don't tell her everything, Edward."

"_What should I type?"_ He asked.

"Just put that we're sorry, but we had a change of plans...and don't respond to whatever she texts back," thinking that she would probably assume that our absence was sex-related and give him a hard time. I wasn't sure how Edward would respond to that, or if he would even be able to decode her text-speak.

"_Okay, hang on."_ He sent the text and came back on with, _"Please forgive me, Bella."_

I took a breath. "I do, but I'm not finished, Edward.

"I was _very_ embarrassed to have to stand in the street and then outside your door to talk to you. Do you understand?"

"_No. Why would you be embarrassed?" _he asked.

I sighed and wondered not for the first time if he _really_ didn't get this stuff, "Because, Edward, I thought people might stare at me, and it looks like...like there's something _wrong _with me and that's why you won't let me in!"

"_But it's because I can't handle seeing you right now. It has nothing to do with you _personally_!"_

"It doesn't?" I asked.

"_No. I don't want _you_ to see _me_ like this, and I don't know what I'll do. Sometimes I think it will be OK, and sometimes...I just...please don't ask me to let you in tonight."_

"Okay, I won't," I said. I thought about Rose's advice and added, "Listen, you know...after all I told you about my mother...and then you told me you'd go, and then you bail...it...I'm not saying it's the same, 'cause I know it's not, but...um, it kind of _felt_ like that. Like...you knew you weren't going to go, and you just didn't want to tell me."

...

"Edward?"

"_That statement makes me angry, Bella," _he said._ "I believe you have misunderstood me. I honestly thought I could go with you, but...the subway...it's just..." _he made a retching noise,_ "the more I think about it, the sicker I get. Actually, I don't think I'll ever be able to ride the subway, Bella."_

"Are you serious?"

"_Of course. I rarely joke. It's difficult, and people don't normally find me funny."_

I wanted to laugh at that, but I was too floored by his admission that he thought he'd never get better.

I remembered what Rosalie said about him being sick. She looked weary when she said it.

Could that be me one day? Would it be worse if I were with him, like a girlfriend?

I gulped.

"I don't know if I can do this, Edward."

"_Do what?_"

"Us," I said.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight_**

**Chapter 18**

**Whistling in the Dark**

_There's only one thing that I know how to do well_  
_And I've often been told that you only can do_  
_What you know how to do well_  
_And that's be you_  
_Be what you're like_  
_Be like yourself_

Excerpt from "Whistling In the Dark" by TMBG

**EPOV (several days later)**

He was laughing.

I sat very still and observed him.

He was leaning over, his eyes shut tightly. If I wasn't certain he was in excellent health, I would have worried that he was suffering from angina. It looked as though his eyes were watering. I wouldn't say he was crying, though, because his vocalizations were more in line with mirth. It was very odd.

His pen had fallen out of his hand and my file had fallen to the floor.

Finally, he wiped the moisture from his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the silver-gray and blond strands out of his face and said, "I'm sorry, Edward. It's very bad form to laugh at a patient. It was just so _unexpected_."

He noticed the mess he had left on the floor and picked up the file, which fortunately had all but the most recent page firmly attached by two prongs at the top.

I remembered how efficiently Dr. Cullen was able to look back at past notes in previous sessions.

"It wasn't funny. It was life-changing!" I insisted.

"Yes, I'm sure it was that, too!

"So, did she wear the gloves, as well?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. I told you, she has a latex fetish."

"Well, all of this sounds wonderful, Edward. I'm so proud of you! I'm glad I don't have a patient after you, because," he checked his watch, "I think it's going to take more than fifty-five minutes just to catch up, and I want to help you get back on track."

"Thank you," I said.

"I can imagine you have a lot of conflicting thoughts about this relationship with Bella."

"Yes, when I'm near her, it's not as bad, but when she's not around, it becomes unmanageable, and sometimes I don't want to be around her, because it's worse right_ after_ she's gone, and I don't know what to do, because I _want_ to be around her, not just because of the symptoms, but because I enjoy her company, and not just the orgasms, although those are very nice, too, but I don't know how to deal with this."

"Sounds like she upset your apple cart," Dr. Cullen said.

I thought about that. I had learned the expression from Emmett. It took a while for me to formulate a definition that would encompass the entirety of the analogy, but after some discussion I finally came to the understanding that it meant someone or something had caused uncomfortable changes to one's own plans or sense of self.

"She _has_ 'upset my apple cart'," I acknowledged. "And I am presuming the apples represent my OCD behaviors."

"Naturally," he said.

I decided to apply the analogy in a free-thinking exercise that Dr. Cullen had suggested once. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine an upset apple cart.

I began, "And when she does this, er, upsets my cart, I have to pick up the apples and put them back, and some of them are bruised and all of them are dirty, because the ground has lots of bacteria. I'm not sure if they are even worth putting back on the cart. And some I leave on the ground for weeks, but still, I pick them up after she upsets the cart _again_. And obviously the apples aren't nearly as nutritional as they were when they initially fell to the ground, but I clean them carefully and put them back on the cart, anyway. And sometimes I just want to empty cart and find some other fruit...or no fruit at all, and sometimes I want her to go away, because I _need_ the apples...uh, for their nutritional value?"

I stopped talking and shrugged. It seemed like a useless exercise. I glanced up at Dr. Cullen to gauge his response.

"That was amazing, Edward," he said, leaning forward with his chin in one hand. My file was setting on a side table. He never put my file aside; he was always ready, pen in hand. This was different, but I couldn't figure out why.

I wasn't sure what he meant by "amazing," either, but I gathered it was positive, so tried to continue using the analogy...to challenge myself. "So, how can I leave the fruit lying on the ground, when I _need_ it?"

"Well, that's what we're here to talk about, isn't it?

"Let's look at some of your propositions, Edward. First, you said _some of them are bruised after they fall off the cart_. So, you acknowledge that some of your behaviors are not as satisfying as they once were. _Why_ do you think that is?"

"Well, logically, I understand it is possible to live without them. That I'll be OK—for a while, anyway. So, when I am compelled to do them again...it's, well...I feel as though I've failed in some way."

"Failed. Failed to get better? Or failed to meet your expectations or what? What _specifically_ do you think you've failed at?"

"I'm not sure. It's a similar feeling to the one I have when I've set out to do a task, and I have been unable to complete it."

"So, failed to meet your expectations. You expected not to have to do it again, and here you are, doing it again."

"Yes."

He always knew. How did he know? Dr. Cullen's perceptiveness was incomprehensible to me. I stared at him.

He smiled at me, then looked up at the ceiling. He was thinking about what I'd just said, and formulating his response. His fingertips were touching each other in front of his face just like always. I knew what most of his gestures meant because he was consistent. He finally brought his gaze back to me.

"Have you ever eaten a bruised apple Edward?" Dr. Cullen asked.

I knew he was getting back to the analogy, but I had no idea what he was trying to communicate.

"Um...metaphorically? I'm sorry, I don't understand what you are saying."

"No, have you _actually_ eaten a bruised apple before?"

"No. But I've bitten into one before. Completely on accident."

"And why weren't you able to finish eating it?"

Why? Who _would_ eat a bruised apple? Why was he asking this question? I had no clue, but I answered him anyway, unthinkingly questioning his intelligence. "It was disgusting. The flavor and texture made me want to vomit. I spit it out."

"But, it wouldn't have killed you to eat it. The bruising didn't make it poisonous or otherwise unhealthy, did it?"

"No, I suppose not."

I tried to connect it back to my OCD, but failed.

"I don't understand, Dr. Cullen."

"The behaviors themselves are neither better nor worse than they were before. What has changed is your perception. That's it."

"My perception? What does _that_ have to do with a bruised apple?"

Dr. Cullen was shaking his head.

"Forget the apple, Edward. I took it too far. Listen, the only bad thing you perceived from your behaviors _before _Bella was the inconvenience to your ability to accomplish the things you needed to do in order to keep a job and not be a burden to your family. But _after_ Bella, there are actually things you want to do. You have a specific goal; not a generic, 'I'd like to have a relationship,' but a specific, 'I want to have a relationship _with_ _her.'_

He was certainly correct about that. I wanted to _be_ _with_ Bella in every way I could imagine. I suppressed the urge to follow that line of thought, and focused on what Dr. Cullen was saying.

"You are here today because of _her_, because you want to find a way to be with her. Your OCD is keeping you from your goal."

"I already told you that!" I said, exasperated. "What am I supposed to do about it?"

He ignored my question.

"Talk to me about a time your OCD symptoms became unmanageable. Tell me what happened on Saturday."

I sighed and said, "She asked me to ride the subway. I thought I could, but when I got home...the more I considered it, the more upset I became. I started cleaning, then I started measuring. She came to the door, but I couldn't let her in while I was doing those things. And once she got there, it was all I could do to keep from vomiting as I thought about what it would be like to ride the subway. I was...I was embarrassed. I've never been embarrassed before."

"Why do you think you were embarrassed?" he asked, leaning forward, eyebrows up, head slightly cocked to the side.

"Well, she might...she might not understand, and...she might find me...unacceptable..."

"She might _reject_ you, or tell you she never wants to see you again," he said firmly.

"Yes." It was a relief to discover that. I was afraid of her rejection...of course. She _did_ almost reject me.

"But you told her what your limitations were up front, Edward. You _told_ her you weren't comfortable riding the subway. You need to do that when_ you're _ready, and not a moment before.

"The right thing to do would have been to tell her you weren't ready, up front, and that you need her to respect your limitations. That doesn't mean you shouldn't stop trying to change your behaviors, but you can't just change when she wants you to. No one can do that, successfully.

"Was she upset when you told her you couldn't go?"

"Yes. She said she was embarrassed that I told her while she was waiting on the street. Then, I let her into the building, but I wouldn't let her inside the apartment, so we talked through the door. She didn't like that either."

"I would imagine not," Dr. Cullen said.

His brow was furrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. He kept them there.

"What else did you talk about through your door? Did you ever let her in?"

"No. She accused me of betraying her trust like her mother used to do. It made me very angry, because I knew for a fact I did nothing like that. To compare me to her mother was...well, her mother was a liar and cruel. I am neither of those things, and I thought she knew that. I certainly didn't _plan_ to tell her that way. I actually thought I _could_ ride the subway with her. She said..."

I remembered what happened afterward with painful clarity. I repeated it back to Dr. Cullen:

_She said, "I don't know if I can do this."_

"_What?" I said._

"_Us," she said._

_I was surprised. "Us? You mean...you can't _be_ with me?"_

_I slid to the floor when I realized what she was saying. My eyes stung with moisture, and my head hurt._

_Then, she said, "I don't know, Edward. I don't want to tell you that you _have_ to be healthy. I know that's not fair. And I sure as fuck am no good example, but...this is hard enough for me, without you saying you won't even _try_."_

"_I never said I wouldn't try." I said. _

_I decided right then that I would not only try, but actually do better. If that's what it took...I _had_ to do better._

_She said, "Don't give up, Edward. If you can promise me not to give up...then I won't, either."_

Dr. Cullen blew out a lot of air.

Then he said, "Edward, do you think Bella would mind coming with you to one of our sessions?"

"I'll ask her. Why?"

"I don't want to speak for her, but I am confident there are some issues she has herself, which are going to continue to be a problem in your relationship if you don't get them out in the open.

"Has Bella ever been in therapy?"

"I don't think so, but I'll ask her," I said.

"You don't have to do _that_," he said, shaking his head. "Just ask her if she'd like to come. I'd really like to meet her."

He smiled at me again.

"Edward, this week, I want you to do a visualization exercise. I want you to imagine riding the subway. Do some research online, talk to Bella and your family about what it's like. If anyone suggests you actually _ride_ the subway, tell them that's not a part of the assignment. I just want you to get enough information, so you can sit at home alone, and imagine what it's like. Best case scenario. When your mind conjures OCD behaviors, I want you to write them down. Don't try to avoid them, just deal with them, and go back to imagining. So, you go down the stairs, pay, get on, ride a few stops and then get off the train and go back up to street level. OK?"

"How many stops?" I asked.

"Three," he said. "Or more if things go well. Imagine having a conversation with Bella, or...er...doing something else relaxing."

When he said the last part, I noticed a smirk and a glint in his eye. _Something _else_ relaxing_...Well, orgasms with Bella were certainly relaxing. Wait.

"Are you giving me permission to imagine sharing an orgasm with Bella?" I asked.

"Whatever you want. Orgasms, measuring, cleaning, whatever makes it manageable."

"I think I can do that," I said.

"I have complete confidence in you, Edward."

~~§•§~~

I sent a chat message to Bella as soon as I got home. We had chatted soon after her laptop arrived on Monday. She even carried it with her to work.

She refused to Skype. She told me she had even put a sticker over the camera so she wouldn't have to worry about accidentally "beaming" an image of herself over the Internet. I had tried to explain how it works, and she laughed and called me "Spock." I got the reference and had a bit of a chuckle myself. I was always on my toes with her, being challenged by her words, trying to fully understand her speech.

It was _always_ amusing when I finally "got" it.

**EAMITNYC:** Bella?

**Bella-Me:** Edward!

**Bella-Me:** How did it go with Dr. C?

**EAMITNYC:** Very well. He wants to meet you.

**Bella-Me:** Fuck, that's not good.

**EAMITNYC:** No, it IS good. I want you to meet him, too. He's very important to me, Bella.

**Bella-Me:** Well, of course I'll go. I just worry he'll think I'm crazy.

**EAMITNYC:** You aren't crazy and Dr. Cullen is a smart man. He will know that. I hope. I certainly don't follow his reasoning on everything, but statistically, he is way ahead.

**EAMITNYC:** Also, between the two of us, I am more certifiably insane. Although, I'm not actually insane.

**Bella-Me:** You are cute, even in messages.

Cute? How could she discern my attractiveness at this moment through the internet? I scanned our chat. I could see nothing of note, although I was almost...well, excited and almost dizzy at the thought of chatting with her.

Giddy. I was giddy.

And I was happy.

**EAMITNYC:** Maybe you sense my happiness.

_Bella_ makes me happy.

**EAMITNYC:** You make me happy, Bella.

**Bella-Me:** I do?

**EAMITNYC:** Absolutely. Just thinking of you (not _necessarily_ naked) makes me very happy. Giddy, even.

**Bella-Me:** You make me happy, too, Edward. And I'm not just saying it because you said it.

**Bella-Me:** Alice told me I look happier today.

**EAMITNYC:** I don't know if I trust her judgment, Bella.

**Bella-Me:** LOL. Well, maybe not always, but lately, she's been pretty good.

**EAMITNYC:** I'm trying.

**Bella-Me:** I know. Me too.

**EAMITNYC:** You are?

**Bella-Me:** Yeah, I ordered something new at Reuben's today...by myself.

**EAMITNYC:** But you still got the fruit cup, right?

**Bella-Me:** Of course. And a salad. I'm not about to neglect my health, Edward.

**Bella-Me:** ;)

**EAMITNYC:** Can you do that in person, when we meet again?

**Bella-Me:** Do what?

**EAMITNYC:** This: ;)...the "winky" thing. I like it. You are smiling and winking and it's adorable. I like it a lot.

**Bella-Me:** OK.

**EAMITNYC:** I have an assignment this week.

**Bella-Me:** What is it?

**EAMITNYC:** I have to imagine I'm riding the subway.

I cringed. I didn't want to do the assignment, but at least I would be in the comfort of my own home and not actually exposing myself to germs.

Then, I realized I could use the action-indicator Bella showed me on Tuesday.

**EAMITNYC:** *cringes*

**Bella-Me:** Nice job!

**Bella-Me:** *kisses Edward on the lips*

**Bella-Me:** Was that OK?

Fuck, it was more than OK. I could imagine her lips on mine.

And then I was hard.

**EAMITNYC:** Bella, can you come over tonight?

**Bella-Me:** No. I'm sorry. I wish I could, but I'm going to a private showing of Ben's work...since I didn't go on Saturday.

**EAMITNYC:** I understand.

I still felt bad that I had failed her. I felt worse about _that_ than the fact that I failed myself. I felt...embarrassment.

**EAMITNYC:** I'm sorry I couldn't go with you.

There was a long pause before her response.

**Bella-Me:** I forgave you, Edward. And it's not all bad. I don't have to talk to a bunch of strangers, so...I'm glad about that, at least.

**Bella-Me:** I have to go. Ang will be here in a few minutes.

**Bella-Me:** Good night, Edward.

I hated this part.

**EAMITNYC:** Good night, Bella.

**EAMITNYC:** *Kisses Isabella Swan deeply and pulls her in close*

**Bella-Me:** *Kisses Edward Masen back* *moans*

Fuck. She always knew what to type. I tugged on my hair. Should I keep going? I swallowed.

**EAMITNYC:** You make it very difficult to stop chatting, Bella.

**Bella-Me:** I know.

**Bella-Me:** I'm not sorry. Are you?

Of course I wasn't sorry. Did she think I wanted _her_ to apologize? Wait, was _I_ supposed to apologize? Was _that_ what she was asking?

I was confused, but I decided not to try and figure out what she meant this time. I just said what was on my mind.

**EAMITNYC:** I miss you, and I want to kiss you in person. But I can be patient. I'll wait until Friday night. Are you free for a date, Ms. Swan?

**Bella-Me:** Yes. What time?

**EAMITNYC:** As early as possible.

**Bella-Me:** 6pm?

**EAMITNYC:** Yes. Meet me?

**Bella-Me:** Not at your apartment. Not after last time, Edward.

**EAMITNYC:** Why not?

I was confused. Why did last time make a difference? She had forgiven me.

**EAMITNYC:** I'm sorry, but I don't understand.

**Bella-Me:** I have to go. I'll think about it and message you tomorrow. OK?

**EAMITNYC:** OK.

**Bella-Me:** *kiss and hug*

*****Bella-Me logged off at 6:55 p.m.*****

I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, visions of Bella clothed, naked and always _wanting_ were swirling in my brain. I felt my cock stir in my pants, and lowered my hand, idly enjoying the sensation. I had already masturbated twice today, and was trying to not do it so much. Rashes could turn in to serious conditions if they persisted.

I opened my eyes and looked over to my free-weights. I had increased my reps on all of my weightlifting exercises recently. I decided right then that I might need to run more on the treadmill, too.

I had asked Emmett what I could do to reduce the frequency of my erections, and he told me to think about baseball stats. That didn't work because I could think about those and Bella naked at the same time.

I asked him for something else to do. He suggested I do something that required complete concentration, or I could think about something that made me sick.

I didn't want to actually _get _sick, so I started lifting weights when my penis was inconveniently hard.

With all the extra workouts, I knew I was going to have to increase my food consumption soon, as well.

After exercising, showering and eating dinner with Emmett and Rosalie, I returned home.

I wrote in my Bella journal, detailing the dream I had about her last night.

In this dream, I was lying supine on my bed, and she was above me. My hands were on her hips and we were moving together.

We were naked, of course; having sex..._fucking_.

I lay in bed afterwords, imagining Bella straddling my hips. After I masturbated, I wiped the ejaculation away with tissues and rolled over. I didn't shower again.

~~§•§~~

I was finishing up the changes to a current client's system, adding administrative controls to the payroll module so the CFO could make sure no paycheck was processed without her authorization, when I received an email alert.

It was from Alice Brandon.

**Edward:**

**I did some research on the company you work for. By all accounts, you do great work.**

**Brandon & Brown would like to update our systems, and we'd like you to be in the lead on this. I have already spoken with your boss, James. He said you are very good at proposals, but have no experience with doing them in-person. However, we must have an in-person presentation to our board a week from Friday.**

**Please respond and advise if you are amenable.**

**Thanks,**

**Alice Brandon**

**Senior Partner**

**Brandon & Brown, LLC**

I decided to call Alice rather than respond via email, because she didn't seem to like my writing style very much.

"_Alice Brandon's office,"_ a nasally, chirpy voice greeted me.

"Edward Mason to speak with Ms. Brandon."

"_Hold, please."_

The worst part of holding was the music. It was never music I cared to listen to. Only, this time, there was no music. Brandon & Brown had no hold music. I was glad.

"—care_ if he filed __**bankruptcy**__! He has __**five children**__ to keep up and one of them is an up-and-coming __**skate**__-boarder! He __**needs**__ to get another j—Oh, he's on? Shit. Hi, this is Alice!"_

"Er, this is Edward. Masen."

_This_ time, I pulled the phone away from my ear.

"_Edward! Yes, so you got my email? Good. Here's what we need. We want to integrate all of our departments into one system. I know we're late in the game for this, and it's going to cost a lot, but my mother wasn't as with the times as I am. I've been struggling just to keep this ship afloat, and now that we're headed in a more solvent direction, I think this is the next thing we need to tackle. We don't need to discuss rates or cost or anything. I'll work on that with your boss. What I want to talk about is implementation. Your proposal needs to include a time line and a cost/benefit analysis. And let's think long-term, here, Edward. I'd like to be able to show the board that we'll be able to reduce our personnel significantly over time, and with the current health care shit going on, HR is going to be our biggest profit suck. Oh, and after the proposal, I think it would be good for you to shadow some people, to observe our work-flow. Might help if you point out some specific dead weight, post changeover, you know what I mean? So, are you on board?"_

The reduction of personnel angle was what I hated most about my job. It was one of the ways we sold the idea, but I always tried to encourage companies to keep personnel with the idea that as they were able to handle more business volume, it would be good to have employees who understood the company to help it grow.

It would be difficult to persuade Alice of this today, so I didn't bring it up.

"I am ready to accept your terms, however, if I am going to be in your office, I would like some assurance that people will not touch me. If you can ask your employees keep their hands to themselves, I think we can work together."

She sighed. "Are you going to wear those creepy gloves?"


	19. Chapter 19

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 19**

**Date at the Dimestore**

_I got a (?) disgusting (?)_  
_Maybe we can turn this wrong_  
_Into right_  
_I can't keep living alone_  
_When I think of him, I get tears _

Excerpt from "Date at the Dimestore" by TMBG

**BPOV**

I sat in Alice's windowsill, looking out at Central Park. Even though the window was closed, the smell of hot dogs, taxicabs and wet, dead leaves were in my nose. I sniffed my purple TMBG t-shirt. Ah, that's what it was. I shouldn't have been surprised. Now that it was old, and therefore rarely washed, it took on the smell of everything.

Thankful that I hadn't somehow gained mutant powers in the past few minutes, I turned my attention back to the street.

The city was covered in a light misty fog. It had rained earlier, and looked like it would again any minute. I wasn't too worried about that, because I had a large umbrella, but I doubted we'd be able to pull off a "walking tour" date today.

I wasn't actually sure _what_ we'd be doing. Edward was keeping it a secret. We had this weird Buffy Season Three kind of truce going on. But if Edward left me right before Prom, I was more likely to send Hell Hounds after him myself than save the school and pick up a stupid sparkly prize.

Just sayin'; I wasn't feeling particularly trusting of his word is all. I had too much experience with the kind of rejection that keeps on coming to think that a single bout would be the end of it.

So, Edward had agreed to meet me at Alice's building.

It was (ironically) the only neutral spot within walking distance from his apartment; where, if he were unable to make it due to an emergency OCD situation, I wouldn't be stuck without a phone wondering where he was.

If he couldn't make it, he had to call _Alice._

I shook my head and smiled wryly. That wasn't likely to be a motivating factor for him, but it was nice to think about it as though it were. Edward was so confident in his interactions with people, particularly if there was no touching, that I wondered if he were Alice's Kryptonite.

_OK, gotta stop mixing metaphors,_ _Bella,_ I thought.

I looked up the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of him as he came into view. The post-rain smog-fog was thin enough that I could see about a half-a-block in both directions.

Would Edward be OK with fog? I couldn't think of a valid reason for him _not_ to be, but I couldn't think of a valid reason not to ride the subway, either. Would he call if he couldn't make it? What would he say?

_I'm sorry Bella, I can't be in the fog; it makes me uncomfortable._

Ugh. I was still resentful. I knew it was immature. But I also knew I'd never spent this much time with a male who was having "sexual relations" with me. All of this was new. There was a learning curve. We could figure this out.

_Ooh, what would Edward look like coming down the street in the fog?_ I wondered.

Images of billowing black coats and superhero music played in my head. I imagined him jumping from the ground up to Alice's living room window...which suddenly changed to my bedroom window...the one in TriBeCa...and I was in my bed sleeping, and he was watching me, and pulling out a can of WD-40 to open my window...and...that is fucking _un_-sexy...

Thoroughly pulled from my pathetic attempt at escapism, I eyed Alice's phone. It was 5:55 p.m. He wasn't late, yet. I continued to look at the inoffensive little gadget as though it were a bomb about to explode and kill any hopes for a relationship that I'd probably ever have. I willed that fucker not to ring and destroy my WD-40 dreams. I furrowed my brow in concentration.

That was useless, too. Not even Alice had that kind of power.

My twin, who had spent most of her life smothering me to death, was oddly out of my hair and in her home office, doing whatever someone like Alice does when she's alone with her thoughts.

She totally needs a rat named Pinky...or was that already Jasper's role to play?

No, Jasper was Team Bella in a big way; so much so that he and Alice were barely speaking. They were talking, but in a tentative two-weeks-into-couples-therapy kind of way.

And it _was_ all Alice's fault. Of that I was absolutely certain. She couldn't just act normal to save her life. She _had_ to be dramatic about it. She was still kind of hovering, but not in her usual way. Silent and contrite, looking at me for...permission? I had no clue, and I wasn't about to ask her to vocalize her inner monologue.

I only had to ask her twice to leave me alone as I waited for Edward. She looked a little hurt, but she complied.

Scary.

She did convince me to take a cup of tea, though, and I was glad. Tea was calming.

For about thirty seconds. It took longer to make it. How incredibly inefficient.

Fuck. I was channeling Edward already. This was Un-Good.

I was going to get hurt.

My knee bounced and I fiddled with the hem of my T-shirt. The soft worn cotton felt soothing on my fingertips.

I knew what else felt soothing on my skin. I closed my eyes and imagined Edward's gloved hands on my body. The images caused things to _stand alert_ down below.

Well, that was inconvenient. I certainly didn't want to walk around with wet panties.

_Better than going nowhere with wet panties_, I mused.

_Touché_

Alice's phone buzzed.

_Incoming call from_

_Edward Masen_

I _wanted_ to wail or scream or say, "**Fucking ASSHOLE!**"

But I couldn't find my voice.

I was gagging on the words, which seemed to be stuck in my throat.

I held the vomit back, and managed to pick up the phone and carry it to Alice's office. She had heard it (the bat), and met me at the door.

I offered her the phone like a supplication.

_Please don't let it be what I think it is._

"That _Fucking __**Asshole**_!" she said.

Well, at least someone said it.

She yanked the phone out of my hand and answered.

"You goddamn mother_**fucker**_! How _**dare**_ you stand my sister up twice! You aren't just a _**loser **_and a _**weirdo**_, you are a fucking _**asshole **_and if I could think of something that would _stick_, I'd _**sue**_ your ass into next _**year**_! I don't even _**care**_ if you're my husband's sister's husband's _brother_ or **_WHAT. _**Do you know what sh—"

Alice stopped talking, head cocked to the side.

She pushed me out of the way and ran to the window. I followed.

We looked out and saw Edward standing on the sidewalk, facing the park. He had one (gloved) hand pulling at the hair on the crown of his head.

If I'd been sitting naked on a smooth surface, I would have slid right off...

He was here.

He was wearing tweed.

I grabbed the phone from Alice.

"Edward!"

"_Bella?"_ He turned and looked up at the building as though he could hear me out the window.

I waved a hand side to side.

He saw it and waved back.

"_I see you!"_ he said with relief.

"I know!" I said, like the moron I am. "I mean, _Right_—I mean," _Fuck_!..._breathe! _"I'll be right down."

"_Okay!"_ His smile was so big I could count his teeth from the twenty-first floor.

I dropped Alice's phone and walked out without even saying goodbye.

~~§•§~~

There was only one establishment that Edward would even consider for our date. It was called _Debussy's_, a small cafe originally owned by a woman who claimed to be _the_ Debussy's descendant. Edward said they had always gotten one hundred percent on their health inspections. He checked the records back fifteen years. Edward had suspected that the owner was a closet germ-0-phobe.

He told me all this (in greater detail, and with zero snark) as we walked the last block to the place. He wanted me to know that he had my best interest in mind.

He had taken his gloves off, so I enjoyed the feel of his hot, dry hand as we walked, but I spied the tale-tell tiny bit of latex poking out of his pocket.

He hadn't kissed me yet, and I had lost all of the sexual confidence I'd gained since we were last alone.

Instead, I stared at him more (that was a Good) and made pathetic small talk (Less Good, but I would take it.)

"So, are you actually going to _eat_, when we get there?"

"I wasn't planning on it, I just wanted to watch you eat."

Creepy, but sexy. Why does that make me wanna...?

Actually, I was pretty sure Edward had ensured creepy would always _be_ sexy for the rest of my life. He'd unknowingly combined the two so often that I couldn't think of something _as_ sexy anymore unless I was a little creeped out by it.

Interestingly, I wasn't bothered at all by that thought.

See?

Creepy...but also sexy.

"People are gonna think you're a vampire, if you don't ever eat in public."

"Vampires don't exist, Bella," he said seriously.

I looked at him and smiled smugly.

"You were joking, weren't you," he said.

I nodded.

I heard the slap of latex on skin, and I melted a tiny bit, as we approached the door. Edward only put one glove on, so he could open it. He held it for me, as we stepped under the red and white striped awning into the nourishing warmth.

Once inside, he pulled the glove off, turning it inside out and sticking it in a plastic bag.

I raised an eyebrow, questioning.

Edward, who failed to notice my silent question as he was carefully sealing the bag, explained anyway: "See? This is a safe place to put the glove until I can find a receptacle."

Then he stuck it in his pocket.

He gestured to the room and said, "Sit anywhere you like." Then he put his hand at the small of my back, and ushered me forward.

The bar to my right was high, but without stools. To the left were square tables covered in crisp, clean cloths, with neat bistro chairs tucked under one side, banquet seating lining the wall.

Oh, and the cafe was completely empty.

This is New York City. There are no empty cafes. Anywhere.

A woman came around the corner and greeted us. She was short, blond and looked to be about fifty. Slim and nervous-looking, she wore a knee-length pale blue button up dress with a starched white apron and nude ballet flats. It was fifties housewife, meets urban casual.

"I'm Charlotte," she smiled at us, but didn't offer her hand. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Masen. I can assure you the place has been thoroughly cleaned, per your specifications. Ms. Hale came by earlier and inspected everything. I was excited to do a thorough cleaning, anyway, so it was no trouble at all."

"Thank you, Charlotte," he said. "I got her report. I appreciate your continued attention to cleanliness."

Her smile became even bigger as she turned her gaze to me.

Was I supposed to say something?

Wait. Did Edward _rent_ this cafe?

I looked at him, mouth ready to catch popcorn or other snack food.

"Bella, it's OK. I'm buying Debussy's," he said reassuringly, rubbing my lower back, very close to my ass, I noted, and asked me again to sit where ever I wanted.

The dining area was L shaped, so as we went further in, we turned a corner. There, in the back on a low platform, was a baby grand piano.

I decided to take a seat near it, thinking it would be something Edward might like to talk about. Perhaps he would even play something written by the cafe's namesake.

He sat across from me, and Charlotte returned to take our order.

"We have a limited menu," she said, before handing me a piece of laminated card stock twice the size of a business card.

She didn't lie:

-Sandwich of the day

-Soup of the day

-Salad of the day

-Combo (pick 2)

The list of coffee drinks was a little longer:

-Espresso

-Latte

-Cappuccino

-Cafe au lait

-Americano

-Water

-Loose-leaf Tea

I pointed at "Combo" then "Sandwich" and "Soup."

"To drink?" she asked.

I managed to croak, "Water."

She nodded solemnly, as if she understood on a personal level, and looked at Edward.

"Soup and...do you have herbal tea?" He said. I raised an eyebrow, but he ignored me.

"Yes, chamomile and peppermint."

"Hm, I'll take the peppermint. And I'd like the tea and soup boiling. Thanks."

She walked away, and Edward turned his gaze to my incredulous face.

"What is it?"

"You're eating?"

"Well, I didn't want to develop a reputation for being a 'creature of the night'," he said.

And, yes, he actually used air quotes.

I laughed. He grinned.

Then I said, "I can't believe you bought a this place, either."

"Well, I thought I might want to take you out on a date. And it's a good investment. I checked their earnings, too. I don't plan on making many changes, except, sometimes I'll want the place for just us, or whomever we want to invite," he smiled. "See, I'm trying."

"Funny. Trying looks a lot like cheating," I mused.

Edward thought about that before replying, "Long term, perhaps a year from now, if we are still dining as just the two of us, then I'll agree. However, this place allows me to invest in a locally owned and operated company, and to have some control over an environment so I can work on my issues."

A year from now?

I swallowed.

He noticed.

"Did I say something that bothered you?" He put his hand toward my own, and I could feel the energy between us. I was mesmerized at the feel of him _almost_ touching me.

I shook my head, but couldn't form the words to explain _why_ I couldn't form the words to say: _you just casually said we'd be together in a year!_

But before I could get carried away with the idea of an "us," he closed distance, his warm hand on top of mine, and looked into my eyes.

"Whatever it is, please let me make it better," he said seriously. "That's what Esme would say, when something happened that upset me. It made me feel better just hearing her say that. Does it help you?"

"Yes...um...only," I swallowed again and watched as his fingers curled around mine carefully. He was pulling me toward himself. Not satisfied with his current plan, his chair scraped the floor as he hooked an ankle around a leg of the chair and moved it closer to mine.

"I need to kiss you again, Bella."

"OK," I croaked.

He leaned in and my heart was racing in anticipation. His lips barely brushed mine, as he took a long deep breath though his nose. That sound alone sent a pulse through my body. It had been a while since he'd kissed me.

Since the day of the subway debacle.

I crushed our lips together as I wrapped my arms around him, and almost pulled back, worrying that he would freak out, but my assertiveness seemed only to spur him on.

He wrapped his arms around me and opened his mouth in invitation.

Not wanting to seem rude...oh, who am I kidding, my tongue was like a giddy teenager who had just been invited to prom by the hottest guy in school. And she was way more confident than I had been at that age.

_She_ took exactly what she wanted.

Edward moaned against my mouth, his hands slipping into impolite-for-public places. I leaned into his hands, silently begging him to continue.

We both found skin, searching out specific body parts. Edward was working his way down the back of my pants to cup my ass, while mine were working up the front of his shirt to tweak those pale ghostly nipples.

I found them and ran my fingers over the hardened tips. I wondered if they matched the hardness of his cock. Fuck, I hoped so.

Out of breath, but not defeated, he moved his kisses to my cheek and found his way to my ear, "I don't know how you feel about this, but I will do anything you ask to get you back to my place so I can get you naked again, Is that OK?"

"Fuck, yes, let's go right now," I murmured into his ear.

He chuckled, running his nose along my neck and behind my ear, smelling me, one hand moving to grasp my hair as he pulled it to his face.

"But we came all this way, shouldn't we enjoy an evening out?"

"You are an evil man, Edward Masen," I said with as much fierceness as I could muster.

He pulled back to look at me.

Should I tell him I was kidding?

I could tell he had figured it out on his own when he said, "Only as evil as you want me to be, Bella," then cupped my face in his hands, and attacked my mouth, nibbling and sucking on my lips and tongue.

We were interrupted with throat-clearing and food.

Once I smelled it, I realized I was starving, not having had much breakfast and no lunch at all, what with all the fear of failure. Now that I felt like things were going better, and no chance of subways in our future, I had calmed enough to consider that my stomach was empty.

My face had to be flushed, but Edward had the exhilarated glow of someone who'd just finished a 5K. He was about that sweaty, too.

While we ate, Edward and I discovered we had a lot in common. We were of the same mind on all of the Major Three: politics, religion and sports. This meant, of course, that we were both of _no_ mind and had _no_ interest in those subjects whatsoever.

This realization freed us to discuss more important matters like advances in science. We also debated which we preferred and why: Morning Edition or All Things Considered. Edward preferred Morning Edition, while I couldn't decide. I liked Story Corps _and_ You Must Read This equally well, so it was impossible to choose. My favorite topic was the fate of American music due to commercialism.

"I can't watch television anymore," Edward said. "It upsets me to see wonderful songs I heard as a child turned into background music to sell sodas and cars."

"I agree, but often the artists themselves don't even own the music any more, and those who do own it are free do whatever they want."

"I know that," he said, winking at me, "but I don't have to like it, and I don't have to watch it."

"I'm surprised at your interest. I knew you played piano, but I figured you for more of a classical music junkie."

"I played everything I heard," he admitted. "My mother listened to a lot of records over and over. I would play the songs by ear," he said.

"That's amazing. I could never play by ear. I could barely play what was on the page."

"It made it difficult for me to learn what was on the page. I can play it, but I am much more proficient when I trust myself to play what I've heard."

"Like what?" I asked. I hoped like anything that he'd play _something_. I'd settle for "Mary Had A Little Lamb" at this point. Then, I wanted him to ravish me on the piano. He owned this one now, right?

"Hm, well...there is one song. It was my mother's favorite. Would you like me to play it for you?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

He kissed me once on the lips and pulled out a fresh pair of gloves.

"Will that work?" I asked. As much as I'd love watching him play with the gloves on, I wasn't sure that was possible.

"I suppose we'll see, won't we," he said with a twinkle in his eye. He pulled off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair and stepped up to the piano.

I followed him and watched as he lifted the lid and pulled up the short stick, which held the heavy covering up a few inches. Next, he pulled out the bench and seated himself, pushing back the fall and exposing the keyboard.

His face lit up when he spied the shiny lacquered keys. He reached out and brushed them with his fingertips, finding a place he seemed to be looking for with his hands and pressing down suddenly when he found it.

The sound of the C major chord filled the room, and was immediately followed by a lazy walking bass over arpeggiated chords. The progression was generic, and there was nothing that stood out to me. Then he broke into song:

_Stars shining bright above you_

_Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_

_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_

_Dream a little dream of me._

_Say "Nightie-night" and kiss me_

_Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_

_While I'm alone and blue as can be_

_Dream a little dream of me._

The chords suddenly morphed into a vamp that made me think of smoky cabarets and old west honky-tonks.

_Stars fading but I linger on, dear, still craving your kiss_

_I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear, just saying this: _

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you_

_But in your dreams whatever they be_

_Dream a little dream of me._

I remembered the song. The Mamas and the Papas...Mama Cass Elliot. I could imagine a young Edward singing this for his mother.

He improvised through the piano solo, left hand keeping up the vamped chord progression while his right hand played several licks, the occasional wrong notes only adding to the casual character of the song.

He kept up the pace of his fingers while his voice rang out in a strong baritone a reprise of the chorus. Then he played through a few more progressions, watching me with shining eyes and lopsided grin.

I had been leaning against the piano watching every touch. He was right; the latex didn't stick to the keys at all.

I was amazed and turned on.

He stopped when I reached over to touch his face. He didn't even flinch, but stood up and pulled me close to him. He spoke in a low voice into my hair: "Thank you for wanting to hear me play. I had forgotten how much I missed it."

I felt like he told me a secret. I squeezed him tightly and kissed him once on the mouth, but that wasn't enough for either of us. Edward pulled me in tighter. I rubbed against his erection.

"Fuck, Bella, please come home with me now," he said against my hair.

I nodded against his shoulder, having been pulled there as he gasped for air before speaking.

We grabbed our jackets, and he yelled a quick thanks and goodbye to Charlotte, before practically shoving me out the door.

~~§•§~~

I'm a fast walker. I mean, I walk a lot, so my legs are strong and I've always been able to keep up with anyone who's propelled by feet alone. But as Edward dragged me behind him, I stumbled several times, my legs not quite being up to the task of his almost flight-like speed.

I finally told him, he was either going to have to slow down, or carry me on his back like a spider monkey; his choice.

He stopped and stared at me, seeming to consider the practical ramifications of carrying me on his back. Should I tell him I was totally kidding?

Finally, he gripped my hand as though I were his lifeline. Then he continued at a slightly slower pace.

His apartment door wasn't even fully closed before he had me on the couch, under him, with one his hand up my shirt, the other clasped in my hair.

He mumbled all kinds of things, from "precious" and "lovely" to "fucking" and...I think at one point he said, "so shiny and clean." He moaned that last bit, so I wasn't sure.

I thought I should take the lead on the undressing, so I bravely pushed the tweed from his shoulders. I had the foresight to take off my coat before he opened the door, but Edward had a one-track mind...apparently.

He helped me remove his jacket and shirt. "No more button-ups on dates with Bella!" He said angrily as he yanked at the buttons. I heard plastic hit hardwood before he pulled the button-up and undershirt over his head in one go.

Shirtless, he helped me sit up and looked a question at me. I read him very well, so I pulled at the hem of my shirt.

"Please let there be black lace!" he cried and reached for my shirt to help me. I guess I wasn't moving fast enough for him.

In our struggle for dominance of my shirt, I started sliding off the couch. Edward went with me, and next thing I knew, we were both sliding around on the floor, the bench and couch getting banged and moved by elbows, knees and feet.

Finally, my shirt was removed and Edward was pleased to see the BLB was called back for an encore performance. It would probably be added to the roster of recurring acts in our...dare I even think it?

Sex life.

"Fuck me," he said.

"Tonight? Really?" I said.

Edward's mouth was moving like a goldfish, and just as wet, but for once, he was as speechless as me. I hoped for the best, that he was just formulating something to say, not that he was horrified.

"No!" He said...horrified it is, then. "I meant that like I've heard Emmett say it...as an expletive. Sorry, I shouldn't do that, I'm not very good at doing it properly.

"I want to touch you, not _fuck_ you, Bella...tonight that is. I want to wait a little. I mean. I need...can we talk about it later?"

He shook his head in that way he did when he was obviously trying to clear his thoughts of something intrusive.

I reached up and cupped his face with my ungloved hand. He hadn't even insisted I wear gloves tonight, and I wondered if he was realizing that right now.

He shuddered or shivered; I wasn't sure which it was, but then he leaned into my hand and kissed my wrist, moving down my arm and over my shoulder, finally dipping down to my cleavage.

I tried not to guide his head with my hand, which had found it's way to his now messy hair.

Suddenly, I felt his tongue flick just inside the top of my bra to graze my already hardened nipple, as his other hand (seeming to have a mind of its own) started unbuttoning my jeans.

"Yes," I moaned, giving him permission to move forward. Not that he'd asked for it, but I got the impression he was running more on instinct at the moment, and if he suddenly had an attack of cognition, he might stop what he was doing.

Couldn't have _that_.

I moved my hands from his hair to help him remove my pants. Only he was trying to remove everything thing at once. Tangled up in pants and panties, I struggled on the floor, clothes covered legs and feet sliding, and slightly sweaty naked thighs causing painful friction as we struggled to remove my clothing.

_Why oh why didn't I wear a skirt?_ I asked myself.

"I don't know, but I would recommend you wear one next time," Edward answered my, apparently, vocalized question. "I've been fantasizing about that blue one you wore when we met," he added as he kissed the exposed skin of my thighs, calming me enough to stop struggling against him.

"Sit up, my Bella."

I did, and he helped me onto the couch, and had me lean up so he could remove just my pants. He folded them carefully along with my shirt and set them next to me.

"Let's go to my room," he said, holding out his hand.

His room was even more sparse than his living room. There was a full-sized bed, pushed up against one wall, a nightstand and a single dresser. Free weights were stacked neatly in a corner. It was a decent-sized room. I could see the en suite bathroom door was open.

He pulled the covers back and nodded for me to have a seat...I presumed. I sat there, looking up at him, wondering what would happen, wondering whether or not I should be offended once he explained the not-fucking-tonight thing.

Before I could get too lost in my thoughts, though, he ran to the restroom and washed his hands. I could hear the soap slap against his skin, sounding like...well, other things, and couldn't help but touch myself over my panties in anticipation.

As he walked back into the room, gloves back on his hands, he was unbuttoning his pants, more slowly this time, as an edge of glove got stuck between fingers and a button, and carefully freed his cock, which was clearly impatient to be out and a part of the action.

My bottom lip got stuck under my teeth as I took in a ragged breath when seeing his cock.

Then he was naked.

I started to undo the clasp at my back, but he moved my hands out of the way and pushed me back a little, so he could climb over me.

He carefully, almost tenderly, removed my bra, folding it, and laying it on the edge of the bed.

"I'm going to do this right, Bella. I'm not afraid of you; there's a part of me that believes that you are clean, and..." we both watched as his cock bobbed in response to the word _clean_, "shiny..." or it could be _that_ word, "and slick..." his brows came together and he bit his lip, his eyes at my crotch instead of my face, where he was normally looking when he spoke to me.

He slid off of me and down to his knees on the floor, and peeled my panties down my thighs like a greedy boy stealing cookies from a jar. His hands ghosted back up, barely touching me and stopped at my hips. He looked up at me with fear and reverence.

I stared back with the most reassuring smile I could muster.

"Bella you are beautiful. I need your guidance. I don't know if I can do this without more protective gear. Would you be offended if I use a dental dam?"

I lay back, closing my eyes and moaning at the thought of Edward putting the latex on my skin while using his tongue. It was so hot, I even thrust my hips toward his face without thinking.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to do it w—"

"—No! I want the dental dam, please, _Fuck_! Use any...ungf...protective gear you want!" I covered my face with my hands in embarrassment. I felt him leave my thighs and heard him open the drawer on his nightstand. Then came the sound of a plastic bag opening, and the smell of mint filled my nose.

"Mmmm!"

Hearing my non-verbal plea, Edward lifted my legs, placing my feet on either side of my hips and spread my labia apart. I felt the dam press against me like silk, followed I was certain, by the firm pressure of Edward's tongue.

I uncovered my eyes and peered down at him to make sure.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" I said, when I saw he was looking back at me.

He pressed harder, moving his tongue urgently against my clit. He moved it back and forth, flicking it somehow, even with the dam. His eyes rolled back in his head and closed, but I had to keep watching, because I wouldn't have been able to believe he was doing it unless I saw it for myself.

Finally, after I cried out with my first orgasm, and was fully ready to reciprocate, he slid a gloved finger under the dam, and moved it up and down my slit and into me, quickly adding a second finger.

I bucked against him, as I moaned loudly, causing the dam to stick to the glove and moving it out from under his tongue. His bare mouth was suddenly on me.

He stopped.

His eyes met mine.

I was sweating like a bus-boy in a restaurant. If he freaked out and stopped what he was doing right now, I wasn't sure what kind of cave-woman crazy I was capable of. I might not be above reaching for a heavy object to render him unconscious.

Not that that would help.

I watched him move his tongue firmly but tentatively up my slit and pull back, staring back me. Then, he leaned in, that beautiful piece of pink flesh sneaking out of his mouth for a second pass. He watched me like a wild animal ready to bolt.

I held very still.

This time, he moaned as he had his first taste of pure, unadulterated Bella. The dam was gone. Forgotten. His fingers inside me kept moving, at a slower pace, and his other hand squeezed my thigh.

He closed his eyes, and kept going.

I realized I'd been holding my breath.

I blew it out carefully, and sucked in another one, just for the pleasure of crying fuck over and over as he sucked my clit and made me come again.

I resisted the urge to push into his face. It was hard...but I managed.

The sucking and finger fucking continued until I was too sensitive to take any more. I pulled back from him, rather than ask, because I couldn't ask him to stop. There was a part of me that wanted him to _never_ stop.

"Was that good?" he asked.

"Fuck, yes! Too much! I want you in _my _mouth, now!"

"Are you sure?" he asked with fear.

"Edward," I said, sitting up and brushing sweat-soaked hair from his brow, "I want to, very much...do you mind wearing a condom?"

He let out a sigh of relief. "I was afraid to ask."

"But I _like_ latex!" I said.

"Yes, I know, but when I told Emmett I bought the dental dams, he said it was a bad idea. I told him you liked latex, and he said 'no body likes latex _that_ much!'."

I should have been offended by the fact that he outed my kink to his brother, but I was too focused on the plural of _dental dam_. Was that something I could expect to enjoy a second time?

"Edward. I don't just _like_ latex. It turns me on. It makes me wet. Just...don't ever hesitate to tell me if you want something, and I'll do the same, and we can just _not_ worry about offending each other, OK?"

I sat up on his bed, and he moved to sit beside me. His chin was still a little wet from his activity. I bit the inside of my cheek knowing I had something to do with that.

That thought alone made me want to get right down to it. I looked down and saw his erection. I'd have to finesse this as much as I was capable...which is to say, not a whole fucking lot.

My attempt at seduction started, clichéd enough, with a kiss. I pushed him back on the bed, but he held me off of himself at my hips, his own turned to the side.

I leaned back and said, "Would you get me a condom and a pair of gloves, Edward?"

He nodded and opened he drawer, handing them to me like they were precious stones.

"Lay back. I promise you'll like this."

I donned the gloves and put the condom on his cock with ease. I did not fail to notice that he had conscientiously picked a flavored condom, strawberry by the smell of it. I stuck out my tongue and licked the head to check.

"Oh Fuck!" he said. "Please do that again!" He was holding himself up awkwardly with his elbows and hands, his legs sprawled out on either side of me. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

This would not do at all.

I got up off his bed and stood over him.

"Edward, do you have any other pillows?"

"No, but I can order some, if you want me to have more."

"No, I just, um...thought you'd be more comfortable...if you had more than one under your head."

"No. I don't like to have my head elevated too much."

OK...

"Would you put your head on the pillow?"

He nodded and scooted down in the bed, tension radiating off his body in almost palpable waves.

"I'm going to sit next to you over here," I pointed to the side of the bed against the wall, "and I'm going to put just my hands and mouth on you. OK?"

"OK."

I got on the bed and sat perpendicular to him. My knees were touching his hips, but he didn't move, so I assumed that was fine. I put my left hand on his shoulder, reassuringly, running the fingertips of my other hand up and down his body. He relaxed into the bed. My hands ran closer and closer to his cock without touching, in an effort to calm him down a little.

Once he was as relaxed as I'd ever seen him, his eyes closed, but still clearly aroused, I brushed his cock with my fingertips, and he moaned, his cock bobbing, begging for more.

I put all five fingers of one hand around his cock just holding him for a minute, his hips bucking off the bed.

Beautiful.

I leaned in and kissed the tip before taking the head back in my mouth for a second time.

"Arrghnh!" he said, gripping the sheets with his hands. He was squinting his eyes closed I noticed as I watched his face carefully for signs that I was doing too much.

I squeezed the shaft a little and moved my mouth over him, then started working in tandem with my hand. I couldn't move my hand much, though, because the latex would stick to itself. This was a new dimension I was unprepared for.

Fortunately, he didn't last long. He groaned, bucked and put his hand in my hair before thrusting hard into the back of my throat, coming with spectacular force.

"Fuck!" he cried as his hips hit the bed.

I pulled my mouth off of him and filled the vacated space with the biggest shit-eating grin in the history of the world.

Then, I threw his words back at him: "Was that good?"


	20. Chapter 20

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 20**

**Someone Keeps Moving My Chair**

_We're just trying to bug you_

_We thought that our dreadfulness_

_Might be a thing to annoy you with"_

_But Mr. Horrible says, "I don't mind_

_The thing that bothers me is_

_Someone keeps moving my chair_

Excerpt from "Someone Keeps Moving My Chair" by TMBG

**EPOV**

"Well, to answer your question, the worst part was also the best part! That was when the dental dam slid away and I tasted Bella's labia minora and clitoris," I said, as I pressed Bella's hand so she would know I was thinking of her as I said it. Her palm was sweaty, and the urge to look at her was very strong, but this time I resisted. It was important to look at Dr. Cullen, because I was talking to him.

"Edward," Dr. Cullen said, glancing briefly at Bella, "I was hoping you would describe your feelings. You said you almost lost control during the date; I wanted to know what was the worst feeling you had. Fear? Anger? Sense of loss or betrayal? And how did you deal with that feeling, in your mind? Did you rationalize or use any of the exercises we've discussed? Let's talk about that."

"Oh. Yes, I felt fear when it first slipped away, but after I tasted her, it was so wonderful that all I felt was aroused. The frightening part lasted only a few seconds. I didn't have time to use one of your exercises."

I didn't tell him that the reason I wasn't worried was because Bella had had a full panel of STD tests less than six months ago with negative results, and she's not had a sexual partner for almost a year. I figured that was personal information Bella might not want me to share.

Dr. Cullen's face turned red as I spoke.

He cleared his throat and said, "Well, Bella, I'm so glad you're here. I asked Edward to bring you today because it's important for people who are close to him to have a chance to ask questions about his treatment, and to express any concerns in a safe place. On the other hand, you may not want to talk about personal things to a complete stranger, so don't feel like you have to speak. OK?"

I looked at Bella. She was staring at Dr. Cullen with wide eyes, but she managed to smile and nod. She cleared her throat several times before saying: "Thank you. I...I'm OK...and I do have some questions."

"OK. That's great! What would you like to talk about, Bella?" Dr. Cullen set his notes aside. I looked at Bella and she immediately relaxed into the couch. What was it about that file that upset people? Rosalie did exactly what Bella had done, when she had come to one of my appointments with Emmett last year.

"Well, um...did Edward tell you about the, uh, subway incident?"

"Yes," Dr. Cullen said.

I didn't understand why this was so important. It was almost two weeks ago. Dr. Cullen looked at me and my brow furrowed with the mental effort to listen to Bella and not say what was on my mind.

"Well, it really upset me, and I forgave him, but...I feel guilty...because..."

I could feel her staring at my face, so I turned to give her my full attention.

She looked, well, a bit sick, like she might vomit.

I was compelled to back away. I did and she frowned and her eyes became wet. She brushed the tops of her cheeks with the backs of fingers and turned away.

"Bella?" Dr. Cullen said, leaning forward. His hand twitched and inched forward toward her. Her hands moved away from resting on her knees and found their way into a crevice between her legs. I wished my hands were with hers in that space.

Wait. Was he going to touch her? I was pretty sure this was not appropriate. Would she allow him to touch her? What was I supposed to do? My heart rate increased, and I considered putting myself in harms way.

She slid back into the couch further, her hair coming around her face, hiding her beauty from me.

Dr. Cullen pulled back and put his hands on his knees.

"Bella. You said you feel guilty? Could you tell me what you feel guilty about? I'd like to understand."

She hesitated before saying, "Because...I haven't really forgiven him, and I should have, but I haven't. I'm still angry..."

"I see," Dr. Cullen said.

"I don't understand," I blurted. "I apologize for interrupting, but I don't understand, Bella. Why would you lie to me?"

She fidgeted with her fingernails, picking at them. It was disgusting, but I tried not to think about why she might have debris under her nails. "Well...I didn't want to cause trouble. I mean, if I don't forgive you, then...you might...not...want to, um, see me...anymore."

"I would never—"

"—Never?"

"Ever not want to see you anymore," I said. "But, if you don't forgive me, how can you still want to see me?" I was completely confused. I looked at Dr. Cullen hoping he would explain what she meant.

Bella looked at Dr. Cullen, too. She smiled with half her mouth and looked away briefly. Her hands made it back between her legs and her hair was covering her face again.

I pointed at her and looked at Dr. Cullen, "I don't understand this thing she does. Is this a symptom of her social anxiety disorder?"

Dr. Cullen was putting his hands up to stop me as I talked.

I looked at her and saw that she was weeping.

"What did I say?" I asked.

"Edward. Would you mind waiting outside for a moment?"

"Why?" I looked at Bella and then Dr. Cullen.

Something was happening, but I didn't understand what it was. Dr. Cullen's eyes were open wide and his hands were still up like that time when I brought my gun. Bella's body seemed to be shrinking into the couch.

"Can't you just explain it to me, like you do? You've now seen her behavior first hand. Just tell me what it means and what I'm supposed to do, please!"

"It means I'm embarrassed, asshole!" she said with a red wet face.

"Edward," Dr. Cullen said again. "Ten minutes. Go take a walk."

He pointed at the door. His mouth was pulled into a thin line. Was this anger? I was reminded of several looks that were similar on other faces. Yes, this is probably anger. I supposed my leaving was to help both of them calm down.

I looked at my watch and got up and walked toward the door. "OK. Ten minutes. Will you explain when I return?"

He looked at Bella, "That will depend on Bella."

My heart beat faster again with agitation. "Fine," I said, realizing that I was angry, too.

Then, I turned back around and said, "You should really wash your hands, Bella," before I could think.

She got up and ran at me, hands out in front of her, like she was going to attack me. Her eyes were wide and reminded me of that movie with the crazy lady in the bathtub. That man didn't kill her when he held her under water, and it seemed to only succeed in making her angrier.

"Arrrrrrr!"

Then her hands were at my shirt, jerking me. I put my hands up and backed into the door. Sweating, I turned my face away and squinted my eyes closed. I hoped she didn't touch my skin with her filthy hands. As it was, I'd already have to get rid of this shirt.

Dr. Cullen was up from his seat right behind her before she could do more damage to my waning control.

"Bella, let's give him ten minutes, OK? Come on." His hands were on her shoulders.

She let go of my shirt, staring at me like she did right before she ran away from me the night we met.

Betrayal.

I knew exactly how she felt.

I left the room, the building. I headed down the street.

I was almost accosted by a guy with a handful of neon flyers.

He shouted at me from several feet away, "Hey, man, wanna come see Starving Fear? New band, West Coast, on their first tour!"

I knew he was about to shove a piece of paper in my face, so I turned on my heel and headed in the other direction, ignoring him.

I turned and almost ran into a man whose eyes were half open, in that lusty way my Bella's were when she was aroused. Only, his mouth was pressed together in...anger? Yes, or...perhaps frustration? I wasn't sure, but he looked like he was freezing without a coat on. His hands were shoved deep into a pair of khaki pants.

Who would be out in this weather without a jacket?

I turned and looked at him again, his footfalls fast and steady.

Lunch hour must almost be over, because the sidewalk was filling with people. I reached into my pockets, fishing for my gloves. I put them on with a painful slap, the sensation refocusing my brain.

I pulled out my measuring tape, the small one, only reached six feet. I needed to find a place where I could sit down. I looked in the windows of several shops, but none had benches or chairs.

I stopped at a pizza place and considered going in. I changed my mind when I saw how greasy the window was. A woman came out brushing her lovely brown hair back from her face, a jade-colored scarf tied to her wrist. That's odd. Why was she was wearing a man's black leather jacket when she had a perfectly nice camelhair coat? The coat was draped over her arm. It looked like it was her size.

She hesitated at the entrance, looking down the street, searching for something. Then, she stared right at me without seeming to see me. Her perfume hit my nose and made it twitch and tingle when she walked by. I shook my head and moved on.

People were so odd. Why tie a scarf around your wrist? Wouldn't it be better to have it around your neck? If your wrist is cold, put some gloves on!

Finally, I found a bookstore, off a side street.

I stepped in and noticed there were very few customers. I sat down on a filthy chair. I was already going to have to throw out my clothes out as soon as I stepped inside my door, what difference would it make? I crossed my leg over my ankle and measured.

Twelve inches and nine sixteenths.

I measured again. Then, I measured the other shoe. It was the same. I measured them both five times. I was precise with my measurements. I felt a little calmer.

I decided it would be a good idea to murmur the measurement in my head ten times. When I was on number seven, I was interrupted with a hand on my shoulder.

"Sir?"

"Take your hand from me!" I shouted.

The woman stepped back, her face morphing from a placid expressionless face to one that was wide and tight, like it was stretched to its limit. She put her hands on her hips and spoke with equal vocal tightness, "Sir, I need for you to leave, right now."

She stepped out of my way, her hands up, and didn't try to touch me, again. I was relieved.

I got up, stuck my measuring tape in my pocket, and chanted "Twelve inches and nine sixteenths" three more times as I left the bookstore. I could feel her eyes on me as I left.

I walked back to Dr. Cullen's office feeling like a failure. Here I was, after months of constant progress feeling as out of control as I did the first time I stepped through the door.

I was shaking with fear and shame. The fear I expected, but I'd never felt shame about my OCD before. It was inconvenient, and had a negative impact on my ability to get a job and maintain relationships, but other than that, I was fine. Just fine.

Now, I was most certainly not fine. I realized that if Bella couldn't forgive me for not being able to ride the subway, what would she do if I couldn't stand for her to touch me with her bare hands?

She'd never want to see me again.

Could I live with that? If it was a choice between allowing her hands on me and never seeing her again, could I tolerate it? I could wash after, as many times as I needed.

I fingered the tape measure in my pocket. I would measure everything in my apartment when I got home. I wouldn't tell Bella or Dr. Cullen about it, though. I needed to keep Bella. If I could just get through the rest of this session, I could go home. Could I make it?

I knocked.

"Come in, Edward!" Dr. Cullen said.

I opened the door and walked in.

Bella was leaning into the couch, left arm draped over the armrest. She turned and smiled at me.

Dr. Cullen was writing in on something in my file. "Have a seat, Edward," he said, without looking up.

I realized I still had my gloves on when I rested my hands on my knees.

Bella noticed, too. She blushed and looked away.

Before I could pull them off, Dr. Cullen looked up. "Hey, you had your gloves with you?"

"Yes, I had them in my jacket pockets."

"What happened? Why did you feel a need to put them on?" he asked, pen poised to write.

I looked at Bella. Would I be dishonest? Would she accept me?

"Dr. Cullen, I'm very interested in what you talked about while I was gone. Can we discuss that first? Then, I'll talk about my gloves."

Dr. Cullen looked at Bella. Her was nod practically undetectable.

"Edward, Bella is easily embarrassed. But she told me that when you and she are alone, she's not embarrassed with anything you say. And by alone, she means where no one else can see or hear her. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand the words. I don't know why."

"Well, we'll get to that, OK?"

"OK."

"So, now, I'm here with you, so it's hard for her to hear some of the things that you said earlier, particularly about her issues and telling her she was disgusting. Remember after you wrote the first letter how we talked about betrayal?"

"Yes."

"So, do you see how it's the same?"

"When I talk about her emotional problems and cleanliness around other people, it makes her feel betrayed."

"Even through a closed door," Bella added.

"I understand," I said.

"Bella, why don't you tell Edward why you were upset about the subway, again."

"Edward."

I looked at her. I turned in my seat to face her more fully.

She smiled.

"I felt embarrassed when we had, what I consider to be, a private conversation, through intercom, through your door and finally over the phone in front of your sister. I don't think those are appropriate places to discuss our," her breath hitched, "our relationship.

"I need for you to keep that in mind, and try to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself until we are truly alone, and if you aren't sure, ask me, first. I know that this place, with Dr. Cullen is a safe place for you to be honest, but I wasn't ready for that...I am now, I mean," she shook her head and took a breath, "I feel better about it, but I didn't before you left. I was very uncomfortable."

Then, she sat back and looked at me.

"There's more, Bella. You need to talk to him about your responsibilities," Dr. Cullen said.

"Right," she said scratching her head. Then she looked at her fingernails. I didn't comment. "I know that sometimes I mistakenly equate your motivations for doing things with people like Alice and my mother. I know you're different from them. You're like Mr. Darcy, not Miss Bingley. It's easy for me to forget that sometimes. I'm sorry. And I'm going to try to do better."

"That was great, Bella," Dr. Cullen said. "Edward, is there anything you'd like to say?"

"I'm sorry I betrayed you, Bella," I said. Then, I felt like everything was going to be OK, because she reached out and took my gloved hand in her own, dirty one. I had to be honest, so I said it all at once, as quickly as possible, like removing a sticky bandage,

"I'm sorry, but I had to put my gloves on and I had to measure my shoes and when I get home, I'm going to throw out my clothes and measure everything and shower ten times, but I doubt I'll masturbate that much, but I'm sorry, and if you never want to see me again, I don't blame you, but would you? Could you give me some time before making that decision? I want to try and get better again. I can try. I won't stop trying, I promise!"

I was watching her face closely as I spoke. Her eyebrows were up and pulled together in the middle like Dr. Cullen's. Compassionate. But she was frowning. Did those expressions go together? I wasn't sure.

Then she squeezed my hand and I relaxed a little.

"Edward. It's OK. Today was hard for both of us, right?"

"Yes. But you did very well, Bella."

"Well, I have some things to work on, too, Edward."

"Right. But you're already better, Bella. I'm broken...like a clock that can't be fixed. I'm afraid you'll toss me out. Why keep me if I can't tell time?"

"Maybe I just like to look at you," she said snickering.

"What?"

Then she winked at me.

I laughed loudly. Her winking always made me laugh, now.

Dr. Cullen sucked in a loud breath and I glanced at him. He looked surprised. When he saw my face, he started laughing, too.

~~§•§~~

It was almost time for the meeting at Brandon & Brown.

I was hoping I'd be in better shape, emotionally, but there was no more waiting on this project.

I worried and wrung my hands, ungloved, as Bella held the door to the building open for me, and then held the door to the stairs. She was fresh and clean, her cheeks glowing. I hated to see her sullied by having to put her hands on door handles.

Last night, we had gone to the library, and she read out loud to me. Then, we went back to my place and she watched me in the shower as I masturbated. Then, she got in with me, and I washed her body carefully and touched her and made sweet, clean oral love to her.

She asked me if she could stay, and what with her being so thoroughly washed, I saw no reason to say no. I would never have told her no. I wanted to wake up next to her very badly, and I told her so.

At seven, I woke, curled around her soft body, and watched her sleep.

Her knees were under her chin, one hand under her head, the other buried between her legs. I reached around to her front, and slipped my hand over hers. She rocked in her sleep against me, muttering my name.

My cock grew harder when I heard it from her lips.

I kissed her hair and her clean ears (I spent ten minutes on her ears alone, last night).

I wasn't sure if it was appropriate or not, what with her being asleep, but I rocked with her, rubbing my erection against her backside through the double fabric of my sleeping pants and the boxers of mine that she was wearing.

I hardened further when I thought of her clean pussy rubbing against the place where my testicles rested in my clothes.

I rubbed my hands over her body; her breasts, feeling her nipples harden under the thin white undershirt she was wearing; her arms, feeling goose bumps when I pulled the sheet down so I could watch and feel; and her hips, as I pulled them back to meet mine with force.

"Edward," she moaned more articulately.

"Are you awake now?" I asked.

"Yes," she said with a croaky voice, "what time is it?"

I looked at my clock. "Seven-fifteen."

"Fuck!" she said, getting up quickly. I groaned when she left the bed cold, my erection unattended.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't have any clothes, here, Edward! I have to go home and change!"

"I washed your clothes and hung them up to dry after you went to sleep last night. Can't you just wear those?"

"You washed my clothes?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

She walked back to the bed and I made room for her in the little spot she'd occupied since I put her to bed last night.

"Can we have oral sex again, Bella?"

"Sure, but, don't you want to do something else," she said running her hands over my hips and over to the front of my shirt, pulling up at the hem, so she could access my abs.

"Hard," she moaned. "Everywhere." she kissed my neck and jaw line and I leaned down to give her my mouth, too.

"What do you mean, something else...vaginal intercourse?"

"Fuck, why is that so hot? Yes, I want you to fuck my vag, Edward," she continued to kiss me, as she pulled on the drawstring of my bed pants.

"Wait," I said.

"What? What's wrong?" she looked up at me with concern.

"Nothing is wrong, Bella." I pulled my hand out of her hair and gripped her shoulders. "I just...I want to do it when we have plenty of time, and we can do it more than once."

I smiled at her, and she returned it.

"Wait, are you afraid, and you're just avoiding telling me that you can't do it?"

"Of contamination?" I asked.

She nodded.

"No. I don't think so. Thank you for getting that STD panel again last week. I promise I'll stop asking soon."

"No problem, you're paying for it," she said grinning.

"No, I just...I want to take my time, and really enjoy it. I've read that some people think it's an important experience, and it didn't go so well for me last time. I didn't even get in all the way, and my cock wouldn't stay hard, and it was...horrible."

"My first time wasn't that great, either. I mean, it was OK. But isn't that was everything new is supposed to be? I mean, don't you think you need practice before it's really good?"

"I think you could be right," I said. "I promise you, that it will be wonderful when we do it. I've been studying lots of instructional videos online. It's been difficult, because I didn't know how clean everyone was. But I tell myself that they bathed thoroughly and have a clean bill of health."

She giggled.

"Hey, would you tell me about your first time?" I asked, and chided myself for interrupting her giggle. She had stopped making that lovely sound and I missed it.

"Not much to tell, Edward. Do you want to know now, or do you want to get that BJ before breakfast?"

"Hm. That's a..." I almost said difficult but remembered a synonym that had a double meaning. Would this qualify as a joke? I decided to try it out. "That's a hard decision."

I punctuated the "hard" with a subtle thrust of my hips.

She giggled again and I joined her.

Success.

Then, we were kissing again, laughing and rubbing.

The question answered itself as we pulled our clothes off, throwing them to the floor. I didn't care.

Finally naked, I reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a condom.

"You know, we could do this faster, if we would sixty-nine," she said.

"Absolutely not," I said, remembering Emmett's tales of mutual oral gratification. "I'm not putting my nose anywhere near anyone's anus. I'm sorry if that bothers you, but...but I just can't."

"What if I cleaned it with anti-bacterial soap? You could watch," she said, rolling the condom on and licking the tip with her pink tongue.

"Fuck that's...OK, maybe...maybe later. We'll talk about it later, Bella."

She grinned and licked my cock from base to tip roughly, putting her entire mouth over it, wetting it with her saliva.

I gripped the sheets.

Then, she started talking while she gripped me with her hand, "when we fuck, Edward, you're gonna slide right in my tight pussy. I'm gonna be so wet for you baby. And I'm gonna grip your cock like this," and she squeezed my cock with her hand to demonstrate, "and then, I'm gonna ride your hips."

Then she put her mouth on me again, sucking, squeezing...then...she...

"Oh, fuck! What? Ohhhhh...fuuuuuck!"

She was humming.

I didn't last long after that. I jerked up into her mouth, not able to keep my hips on the bed, and she moaned louder against my cock. Then I came with a shout.

I pushed her back, grabbing the condom off and throwing it at my trash can (which I had to add to my room after meeting Bella), and with her head at the foot of the bed, resting back on her elbows, I pulled her knees up and buried my face in her clean, freshly shaved (oh, yes, I shaved it myself last night...very carefully) pussy.

I knew she liked the dental dams, but I wasn't sure if doing this would be as satisfactory for me when I couldn't taste her. Perhaps we could do it sometimes with the dam. I growled against her clit, when I thought of being separated from this wonderful place between her thighs.

"Ohhhhhh, mmmpf..." she said.

Her thighs squeezed my head, and it excited me. I was already hard against the mattress.

But, her tight grip on my head with her strong legs made it difficult for me to breathe and continue to bring her pleasure. I pulled my hands up from where they were holding her open and thrusting in and out of her, and pushed her knees apart. I gazed up at her, and her eyes shined, seeming to see beyond my face and inside my head. I couldn't look away from them as I returned to my position of pleasure.

For the first time, I watched Bella come against my mouth. She was clearly trying to keep her eyes open, staring into mine, but as I felt her body throb against my tongue and fingers, her eyes slipped closed with the most graceful expression I'd ever seen. Her mouth was open slightly, body flushed, eyebrows up, lashes resting against her reddened cheeks. I watched with focus, so I would remember this moment with perfect clarity.

My mouth and hands had stopped moving at some point. I wasn't sure when, but her elbows finally slipped out from under her, and head rolled way so I couldn't see her face.

I lapped up what I could of her, savoring the odd tangy flavor, which made me hard like nothing else.

She moaned quietly. I got up and went to the bathroom and started the shower. We would need to hurry if we were going to make it to her office by nine.

I studied myself in the mirror. I looked like one of the men in the videos I had watched.

Face wet with her ejaculate, sweaty with effort, eyes bright and...I had that same look she had. Intense. I grinned at myself.

That was it. I had read about this look in several books. And now I wore this expression.

For her.

I stepped into the shower. Bella joined me after I soaped up once. I didn't wash more than that, and I didn't masturbate. We had a schedule to keep.

~~§•§~~

Once we were set up in the conference room, Alice let me wait in her office so I could avoid shaking hands with everyone as they filed in and took their seats.

At ten "on the dot," she came to get me and then entered the conference room ahead of me, holding the door.

"Good morning!" I said with enthusiasm. "I'm Edward Masen of Green Hills Integrated Systems, and I'm here to talk to you about how we can help you increase efficiency and productivity."

I went through my presentation, and answered questions from the floor. The board seemed impressed. They smiled a lot and nodded and seemed to like most of my responses to their questions.

During the presentation, I noticed a man on my right, halfway down the table, who seemed to be under the weather. He coughed quietly in to a handkerchief several times, face flushed, and only rubbed his nose once with his right index finger. I looked away quickly so I could stay focused. I congratulated myself on my ability to do so. I was obviously getting better.

Then again, it might have been the mind fucking orgasm I'd had before breakfast.

At 11:45, Alice interrupted to remind everyone that lunch had been ordered, and we would be wrapping up the meeting soon. She advised that I would tour the office with Bella after lunch, watching people do their jobs, so I could come back in a couple of weeks and meet with the department heads about the best way to implement to the new system.

I fielded a couple more questions and thanked them for their time.

"Great, job, Edward!" Alice said. I noticed a very tall dark-headed man behind her and to her left. His brow was heavy, but his face was open and he was smiling. She pointed at him with her thumb and said, "This is Demetri, my PI."

He waved. I nodded, my hands staying firmly at my sides. I felt Bella move to stand next to me.

"I'll have some questions about security. I'm not in IT, but I know my way around computers. Alice has asked me as a personal favor to look into it."

"Yes, of course," I said. "I'll be happy to answer all of your questions."

"Great job on the presentation. You're a natural public speaker. Alice said you've never done this before."

"Well, I've never done this for a live audience," I said. "Only via video conference."

"Well, I couldn't tell. You were very engaging. Congratulations."

He smiled and nodded and then stepped away.

I looked down and to my right at Bella, grinning with a full-face smile. She seemed equally pleased. She grasped my hand and I squeezed back. Her tongue slid out of her mouth and wet her lips and I thought about kissing her. Then, she winked at me. This wasn't the place, but I enjoyed sharing the moment mutual understanding. I was almost giddy with excitement at the overwhelming success of the morning.

She let go and excused herself to help with the food (which, success or not, I had no intention of eating) I watched her wind her way to my right around the table.

Then, I sensed someone near me, and turned to find myself face-to-face with the sick man I spied earlier.

He was less than six inches from me. I couldn't move away, because people were flanking me. So, I stepped back into the projector screen. In my panic, I grabbed it.

"Whoa, there, buddy!" he said, taking my arm and pulling me in even closer proximity to his person. His other hand rubbed his nose again. "Don't fall over! Sorry, I scared you! I'm Marcus Volturi, senior partner."

Then, before anyone could react, he reached down and took my hand with the one he had just rubbed his nose with!

"Thank you so much, it was an excellent presentation."

I could see all of his teeth in his big wide mouth and his raw nose, already crusted with mucus.

I couldn't tear my eyes away. It took some time for his words to find their way to my brain, but it didn't matter. I was paralyzed with fear. It was too late to scream and force him away. It was too late to push him.

I was contaminated.

"Hey, are you OK, buddy?" he asked, brows furrowed. Then he sniffed and pulled a bead of mucus that was emerging from his left nostril back into his sinus cavity.

Finally, he dropped my hand and I pulled it up and looked at it. I could feel the germs on it, crawling, seeking purchase on my body, where they easily find their way to my face, wrecking havoc on my respiratory system.

How long before they made it to my sinuses or my lungs? Had he coughed on me already?

"Marcus!" Alice called, "I see you met Edward. Marcus, is my business partner. I think it would be a good idea for you to spend some time with him today. Maybe after—"

"—No! Get the fuck away from me! This man is sick! Don't touch him! Bella, get away from me, I've been contaminated! Alice! Alice! He'll make you sick, too! Everyone back away from him! Your health is being compromised!"

Everyone was watching me, and backing away from me, but no one was moving away from the walking infection who had backed away to the door.

I walked up my adversary who was blocking my exit and said, "Get out of the way! Or I'll..." my hands were balled into fists and I was shaking with the need to act on my violent impulses.

I was already contaminated, so I knew I had nothing to lose by punching him in the throat, which Emmett said was more effective than punching someone in the nose. It was also more sanitary.

Marcus must have understood my intentions and wisely moved out of my way.

The door was thankfully propped open. I ran to the restroom and pushed that door open with my back.

"No need to spread his germs to everyone else," I muttered.

I used the soap in the dispenser, hoping that it was antibacterial. I scrubbed and rinsed my hands ten times with water as hot as it would go.

Then I washed my face ten times. I finally looked at myself in the mirror. My face was red.

Marcus's face was red.

"Fuck! I'm gonna get sick!" I shouted my voice taking a high-pitched quality I hadn't heard since that time after Jessica...

The room was spinning. I could see the germs. Feel them crawling up my skin. I leaned over the sink and vomited.

I wanted to sit on the floor, but when I looked down, I could see microscopic bugs.

They were crawling on the floor.

I knew rationally that it was impossible to actually see something microscopic, but my brain filled in the blanks and the germs were there. I could see them as clearly as anything.

Then, I screamed.

I'm not sure why, but I seemed like the most important thing for me to do. A warning? A cry for help? I wasn't sure, but my mind was conjuring new tortures I'd never conceived before.

Then my knees gave from beneath me and everything went black.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 21**

**Chaos By Design**

_I slip off my flip-flops_  
_And walk past the crash pad_  
_And step on some broken glass_  
_Into the sound we collide_

Excerpt from "Chaos By Design" by TMBG

**BPOV**

I took a risk and slapped his face.

No dice.

"Edward! Wake up!"

I shook him, and his phone fell out of his pants pocket and thwacked onto the blue tile floor.

_Call Dr. Cullen_, the phone seemed to say from its chalk outline position.

Before I could think of whether Edward would want me to invade his privacy, I grabbed it and looked for "Cullen" in his list of contacts.

I was relieved when I saw that the good doctor had two entries: Office and Emergency.

I didn't hesitate.

"_Dr. Cullen's office, how can I help you?_"

"_**Edward Masen...**_I mean...I need Dr. Cullen for Edward Masen! He's...it's an _**emergency!**_"

"_Mr. Masen is Dr. Cullen's patient_?"

"Yes! I need to speak with him right away! Before the police get here!"

"_Police?_"

"Fuck! Yes, Alice called them!"

"_Alice?_"

"Yes, you cow! Are you **deaf**?"

"_Miss..._"

"**What?**"

"_What's your _name_, Miss..._"

"_Ms._ Bella _**Swan**_! I'm his fucking girlfriend for fuck's sake!" I wasn't positive, but I hoped that being a girlfriend would carry some weight in this situation. I hesitated. There was no response. Finally I said, "Where's Dr. Cullen...? This is an e_mergency!"_

"_Dr. Cullen speaking_."

"Dr. Cullen! I need help! I mean..._Edward_ needs your help!"

"Bella? What happened?"

"**He**...There was this..._can you come to Brandon & Brown_?"

"Can you text me the address?"

"Yes."

"You're calling from Edward's number, I see. I'll send you a text from my cell phone, please respond with the address, and call me back, I'm getting a driver."

"OK."

"I'll be there soon."

"OK."

Then he hung up on me. His text reached me within seconds. I was shit with typing on the tiny keyboard, but I managed to send the text within a minute...I hoped.

Then, I called him right back.

"Bella. It will take, hang on...seven to ten minutes for me to get to you. My phone service said the police were called?"

"Yes."

"By an...Alice? Isn't that your sister?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the police take forever. How long ago were they called?"

"Um...five minutes or less?"

"OK. Good. It's best if we can deal with everything before they get there. Please tell me what happened from the beginning, and take your time. It's just you and me, right?"

"Edward is here."

"Can he speak?"

"No."

"Is he...stable?"

"He's asleep...um, unconscious. I think he fainted."

"OK. Tell me."

"He...we came to work together. He was fine...He was _more_ than fine. He...we...he asked me to stay...you know...at his apartment, last night...and I did...and um...so he had to present his...proposal for the new system, and he did _great_...He was _fine_...And then, afterwards, he was fine meeting people, and then, one of the senior partners, Marcus Volturi...he...well, I think he has a cold or the flu—"

"—Oh fuck, Bella...did he—"

"—He grabbed Edward's hand."

...

"OK, tell me what happened next."

"Um..."

It was kind of a blur. I couldn't remember what Edward said, but I didn't think Dr. Cullen needed all the details. "He yelled a lot and threatened to hit him...Marcus that is, and then he ran away. Alice freaked out and everyone was crazy for a minute, then she called the cops and I went looking for Edward. I heard him scream in the men's room, but when I got here, he was on the floor...like this. I don't know what he'll do when he wakes up! He won't want to be on the floor but I can't pick him up!"

Between the crying and hysteria, I wasn't sure how much Dr. Cullen understood, but I knew for a fact I'd never spoken so much at once. My chest ached. I knew it wasn't a heart attack, but it _was_ because of my heart. And that knowledge calmed me, somehow.

"Bella? It's OK. He's going to be OK. I'm almost there. What floor are you on?"

"Eleven."

"Will I need to speak to a receptionist or security?"

"No, the bathroom is just off the elevators. Go through the doors to the right of the receptionist. He won't stop you. The restroom is about...um, it's not far down the hall on the right."

"OK. I'm a block away. I'll be there shortly. Bella, I just need to make a quick call. The only way Edward can avoid being arrested is if I put him in the hospital. OK? I need to make arrangements for that. I'll see you soon. Call my cell phone if he wakes up, or the police get there before I do, OK?"

"OK."

"Good girl. See you soon."

He hung up again.

...

"Edward. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, this happened...oh, please wake up! Edward! **Ed**—"

"—_**Isabella!**_ _Open this door!_"

"Go away Alice! I called Dr. Cullen! He's coming to get Edward."

"Like shit he is! The police will be here soon to take his ass to _jail_!"

"NO! He needs to go to the hospital, Alice! He didn't mean it! He was scared!"

"Bella," her voice got very quiet, "Edward is dangerous. It was very stupid of you to lock yourself in the restroom with a dangerous man."

I knew what she was doing. But I wasn't afraid of anything when Edward was with me. I knew he'd never hurt me, no matter what.

I kissed his forehead and rocked him, hoping he'd wake up soon, so I could prove it.

"Alice, you are a bitch, and even though you're my sister, I kind of hate you right now for calling the cops."

"What the fuck was I supposed to do?" she hissed. "Act like it didn't happen? He threatened _Marcus_! You think he can just get _away_ with that? Fuck no!"

"Where's Marcus?" I asked.

"He went home. Told me to 'deal with it'."

"You sure he meant for you to call the cops?"

"He was standing there when I dialed."

"What an asshole," I said out loud, but for me and Edward only.

"Are you Alice?" I heard Dr. Cullen's voice on the other side of the door.

I set Edward down carefully, and got up to unlock the door.

"You can't just _take_ him! I called the police! They're gonna think it's a prank if you just _take him!_"

I peered around the door, which I'd only opened a crack. I could only see Dr. Cullen's profile.

"_Alice_," Dr. Cullen said, speaking in a tone that demanded attention, "Please respect my expertise, here. Being sent to jail will not benefit Edward. He has a medical condition that needs to be treated in a hospital.

"I can speak to the police with you, and explain what we're going to do."

"Fuck you, Dr. What-ever-the-fuck-you're-called, I'm having him arrested, and then I'm suing his ass, and probably the company he works for, too."

"What do you hope to accomplish with that?" Dr. Cullen asked, with an unbelievable amount of calmness considering Alice's level of agitation.

"It's sort of an end in and of itself," she said. I heard, rather than saw the smirk that accompanied her speech.

I wanted to swing the door open and punch her in the mouth, but I was too afraid of leaving Edward exposed.

"And what will happen to Bella, if you do that? Do you think that the public embarrassment of her significant other, just to help you save face with your boss—"

"—He is _not_ my boss."

"OK, whatever your personal reason, you will do nothing but ruin_ her_ happiness," he pointed to me, and Alice actually moved so she could look at me, guilt edging its way around her eyes.

_Oh, Fuck. Guilt was not a smart tack to take with Alice,_ I thought.

"Is that what you want?" Dr. Cullen said.

Alice would have a hard time making her case now, but she wasn't the kind of person to just agree because it seemed like she didn't have the upper hand.

She looked at Dr. Cullen carefully, sizing him up.

Then she leaned in, and said softly, almost seductively, "Maybe you're just trying to save your own hide for not locking him away after he pulled a gun on your office manager."

"What I do in my practice is my business," Dr. Cullen countered.

"Well, when you allow Crazy to roam the streets unchecked, it's everyone else's business," she yelled.

"Edward made progress after that incident, and has stopped carrying a gun. From what I understand, he hasn't threatened anyone's life, here."

"He's a public nuisance—"

"—_**NO!**_" I cried out and slammed the door closed again. I turned the lock. "You can't have him. I'll starve before I let you in here, Alice!"

Dr. Cullen spoke again, "Ms. Brandon, by resorting to threats, you've now created an even bigger problem. If Bella refuses to open this door, you're going to have to explain to the police why, rather than remand him into my custody, so he can seek proper treatment for his _medical_ illness, you chose to demand that he be put in jail, where he would most likely suffer until the court finds the time to assign him a case worker, who would most definitely put him in the hospital, anyway. Your vindictive choice to make an embarrassing public scene for your sister and the man she's seeing, will only be a drain on public funds. Are you so litigious—"

"—_**FINE**_. Fuck, you _are_ obnoxious," Alice said. "But _you_ have to deal with the cops. I have work to do."

And with that, I heard her stomp down the hall, which sounded exactly like a herd of elephants.

I looked down to Edward and noticed he was moaning and mumbling, his eyes squinched, but not opening.

I unlocked the door, and Dr. Cullen knelt, examining Edward carefully.

"He's about to wake up," he said. Then he palpated his scalp and added, "I feel a bump. I think he might have hit his head."

"Will he be OK?"

"Yes, but we need to get him out of here, and I can't do that until he's awake. I didn't call for an ambulance. I was hoping I could wake him and get him to walk out with me. Just a minute," he said, pulling his phone out.

"Yes, I'm here. You met the police? OK. Yes, I'm going to need some help. Can you send the two nurses assistants up here? I'm going to sedate him once I get him awake. Hopefully, it will be enough to keep him calm for the ride. Yes...Yes...OK. Thanks."

Then, Dr. Cullen pulled out a small vial, opened it and put it under Edward's nose.

"Fuck! Where am I? What's? Dr. Cullen! Oh, god, Dr. Cullen! I'm going to die! Get away from me, or you'll get sick and die, too! Bella! Bella, go away, I don't want you to get sick!"

His voice was hoarse, but it echoed against the blank walls.

Dr. Cullen waited for him to pause his rambling before he said, "Edward? I think it's best if you go to the hospital. The police have been called, and it will be best if you come willingly with me. Do you understand?"

"Dr. Cullen! Why? Why? Police? I wasn't the one haphazardly spreading a virulent disease all over New York! Why?"

"You verbally threatened to hurt a man, Edward," Dr. Cullen said, "This is the best I can do."

"What will happen?"

"Well, if you agree, I will give you something to help keep you calm until you are assessed by the hospital staff. It should help your symptoms."

"Will I sleep?"

"No, it's important that you _not_ sleep right now, Edward. I think you may have a concussion. You'll need to try very hard to stay awake."

"Bella?"

"I'm here," I said, leaning in so he could see all of my face.

"I'm sorry I exposed you to disease," he said.

"It's OK," I said, grabbing his hand.

"Can she come with me?" Edward asked.

"No, I'm afraid not, Edward," Dr. Cullen said, "But I'll be with you. OK?"

"OK."

"I'm going to give you a shot, now, Edward."

"Is it a new needle?"

"Yes, it's about as sanitary it gets. See, I'm even cleaning the vial with alcohol, just to be extra safe."

Dr. Cullen rolled one of Edward's sleeves up and managed to get the needle to his arm.

Edward's eyes fluttered and started to close.

"Edward!" I called.

"I'm here beautiful Bella..._Bella_ is _beautiful_..." he touched my face and caressed it. Then, he started in with some weird gibberish, "..._bonne lindo frumos prachtig vacker smuk piekny kaunis omorfos gyonyoru lijepo krasny kra...siv..." _

His eyes fluttered closed again.

"What the fuck was he saying?" I asked.

"I think he was saying _beautiful_," Dr. Cullen said seriously.

"Oh, OK," I said, even though I disagreed.

~~§•§~~

I was sitting at home about to nurse a bottle of Merlot while I watched Season 6 of Buffy, when my phone rang.

I stood in front of it considering, like I always did, whether or not I was going to actually answer.

I _so_ did not want to talk to Alice right now.

On the other hand, I remembered that Dr. Cullen said that Edward would be able to call me as soon as he was stabilized.

_That_ word...did things to me. Made me angry. It didn't sound like a pleasant process, this _stabilization_.

But I wanted to talk to Edward so badly that I risked it being Alice.

I picked up the phone.

"Edward?" I said. Which was a stupid way to answer the phone, but I was still new to _planning_.

"_So, I guess you already know, then,"_

"Emmett! Has he called you?"

"_No, but I'm guessing he hasn't called you, yet, either."_

I shook my head _no_, then remembered that he couldn't see me.

"No."

"_Did it go down at your office building, like the nurse said?"_

"Yes," I answered, tonelessly.

"_Are you OK?"_

I thought about that. If I lied, he would probably leave me alone, but if I gave him the truth, the _real_ truth, that I was freaking out with worry and guilt, he would probably ask more questions.

Or yell at me for getting his brother into this mess.

I guess I deserved that.

"No."

"You wanna talk about it?"

I shook my head _no_ again, then realized that he couldn't hear...again, and dropped my forehead to the table. Hard.

"Bella! What was that?"

"Nothing," I said, the tears coming back.

Why was I crying? I wasn't the one who had been loaded off to looney-land! I wasn't the one who had probably just lost my job and any professional respect I'd managed to obtain with a debilitating mental illness!

"Bella?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," I moaned through the tears.

"That's it; we're on our way. I hope you like chocolate."

And then he hung up.

Hm. I wondered how much the hospital told Emmett.

_Considering they called _you,_ dumbass...probably not much._

~~§•§~~

**EmPOV**

Rose was still crying.

"Shit, cover up the fucking brownies, you're gonna get cry all in 'em!" I said.

I ran into the kitchen and grabbed some aluminum foil. Then, I took the brownies out of her hands and set them on the table with the foil and wrapped her in a hug instead.

I could feel the tears soaking into my shirt as I rubbed her back as soothingly as I could.

"Do you think it's a good idea if you go?" I asked her. "I can take the brownies myself. Make sure she's OK?"

"No. I want to get her and bring her back here, so I can take care of her."

"You can't take care of the world, Ro."

"I know that!" she yelled. _Ah, there's my tiger._

"It's just...what if she doesn't want to come here," I said.

"Fine. But I'm coming with you. I can get my shit together. I know I can't be a help if I'm a blubbering mess."

"You're right, but, hey, you get double bonus points for whipping up home-made brownies in less than an hour while weeping."

"Thanks," she said, and let go of me, using her own shirt to wipe the tears and snot that managed to stick to her face after having it buried in my shirt.

She stepped into the bathroom, and I wrapped up the brownies.

I opened the pantry and took out a bag of coffee beans...thought about it, and grabbed the French press and the coffee grinder.

Then, I opened the refrigerator and took out two kinds of creamer and a carton of milk.

Rosalie's idea of bringing her back here was sounding better by the minute.

But I doubted that Bella would come with us. She was skittish like a wild animal, and even if she _would_ let us into her apartment, it was highly unlikely that she'd agree to come home and stay with us.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rose asked.

I saw her standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She was wearing a new shirt, and her arms were folded over her perfect breasts.

That was one of my least favorite of her postures, for more than one reason.

I scowled, and looked at what she was looking at, namely what I cradled in my arms.

"What? This?"

"Yeah, you planning on occupying?"

"No, I just...we need coffee and...oh, shit! What if she takes sugar! Will you grab the sugar bowl?"

"God damn it! You are _just_ like my mother!" she said.

"No, I'm just like _my_ mother," I retorted. "Esme always said, 'if you're going to bring food, better bring back-up beverages so you can make sure they can enjoy it properly'."

"Yeah, well...I don't think she meant that you're supposed to clean out the fridge, babe."

"Would you just get a cardboard box?"

She sighed loudly and rummaged through the pantry. I dropped everything in, and added the sugar bowl.

"Ready?" she asked.

"No."

~~§•§~~

Bella's apartment wasn't hard to find. The doorman knew we were coming. He flagged us down and snapped his fingers for the valet. Then, he not only held the door, but also offered to have the concierge carry the box up to her place.

Seeing as how he already had his arms wrapped around the thing before I could answer, I let him.

I looked at Rose and she just raised her eyebrows and followed him to the elevators.

We rode up in silence. I was occupied, though, by Rose's ass reflected to infinity in the mirrors.

I shook my head to clear it. This was a _way_ bad time to be checking out her ass.

Bella answered the door, and thanked the guy carrying the box. Well, at least, I _think_ she did. It was really just a mumble. She gestured to her living room, and we stepped in and—fuck me sideways, this apartment was fucking _huge_! I could play a pick up game of basketball easily, if I could just clear out all the junk.

I turned back around to find Bella looking in the box, which had been left in the foyer on this massive table with a big fucking doily on it.

Her nose was crinkled. I couldn't tell if she was confused, or if something smelled bad.

However, knowing Rose's cooking as well as I did, I knew it wasn't the brownies.

"We brought chocolate, and coffee, and all the stuff that goes with it," Rose said.

"Thanks," she answered.

"Um, let's take in the kitchen," Rose said, and picked up the box.

I followed, even though I really wanted to check out her entertainment center. I could tell she had an old projection TV, and that was just too cool for school.

Bella uncovered the brownies and cut them, pulling out three tiny pieces and putting them on saucers.

I took the offering, reminding myself these weren't actually _my_ brownies, and I shouldn't be greedy. However, I decided that I wouldn't stop whining until Ro-Ro made me a batch when we got home.

Meanwhile, my wife was making coffee. Bella _did_ have a coffee maker, but it was old and didn't look like it'd been used in a while.

That was fine with me; I preferred French press, anyway.

"I...um...sorry, I don't have any coffee."

"Hey, it's OK! We came prepared!"

She smiled and nodded.

We stood around in the kitchen like statues until finally, Rosalie took the ball and ran with it.

"So, you have an awesome apartment!"

"It was...um...my parents'," she said. "I...well...I don't actually _want_ to...um, you know, live here."

Rose did a better job than me at not looking incredulous.

"Where do you _want_ to live?" she asked.

"My place," Bella said.

"Oh!" Rose said.

More crickets and statues.

"Wait. Are you saying you have _another _apartment?"

"Um," Bella said and then blushed.

"S'OK," I said. "I was just checking."

She didn't offer a tour, but she did usher us into the ginormous living room.

We sat on a massive couch and the girls ate their brownies (mine was already a waste of a clean plate). Rose talked a little about chocolate, desserts and cooking, and Bella seemed to relax a little.

I watched Bella while Rose talked. She blushed, nodded and sometimes commented. She seemed OK. She had clearly been crying. A glance around the room suggested cleaning wasn't high on her agenda: books piled up everywhere, tea cups and saucers on every flat surface, movies out of their cases, clothes...shit there was a bra, I looked away before Rose caught me staring that the black lace.

Anyway, other than being incredibly messy...uh-oh. I spied an open bottle of wine on a side table. It looked mostly full.

I was suddenly glad we got here _before_ the binge drinking started.

"Hey, I'll bet that coffee's ready," I said and went to the kitchen.

"What do you take, Bella?" I yelled toward the living room.

Silence.

I waited.

"Two teaspoons of sugar and plenty of cream!" Rosalie said. I guess Bella was having a hard time communicating right now. That would not bode well for finding out what the fuck happened to my brother.

I wasn't pissed at Bella, yet.

I certainly didn't _want_ to be, but Ed had been a yo-yo of emotions since he met her. That made me suspicious. As much as I liked the chick, Edward was always my first priority...well, Ro was my _first_ priority, but Edward always was neck and neck.

Anyway, I wanted to find out what was going on tonight if I could. I needed to know how to approach Ed when he was able to call. Would I be supportive older brother with an ally in his girlfriend, or hard-as-nails asshole-brother, who needed to set some boundaries?

I returned with the coffees and a larger plate filled with larger brownies. I took one to set a good example.

"So Emmett, Bella was just about to tell me about what happened today."

Fuck she works fast. How does she do that?

"Really? I mean, OK. We've been worried since we got the call from the hospital, and..."

"She, knows, Baby.

"Bella, what started all this?"

"Marcus."

"Who's...?"

"He's got the flu."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Bella said.

"What the fuck was he doing in the office, then—and with Edward there?"

**BPOV**

"I don't know."

To be honest, I hadn't known Marcus was even sick. He had sniffled a little during the presentation, but he sat over ten feet away from Edward, and everyone had gotten the memo that shaking hands with the presenter was not acceptable. Well, so I thought.

I told them, in jilted phrases and with sporadic weeping, the story of Edward's downfall.

I could feel their eyes on me—judging me—blaming _me_, for what had happened.

If I'd never met Edward, he'd probably still be seeing Dr. Cullen, and he wouldn't have been offered the job at Brandon & Brown, and he wouldn't have had his breakdown, and he wouldn't be in the hospital right now.

It was written on their faces, as clear as anything.

Shamefully, I admitted that my own sister had called the cops, and that only Dr. Cullen's rhetoric kept him from being taken to jail.

"You saved the day," Rosalie said.

"Huh?"

"You. Not Dr. Cullen. That was just another day on the job for him. He does have other patients who have emergencies, Bella. I'm sure this isn't the first time he's had to make those arrangements for someone."

"But _you_," Emmett said, seeming to continue his wife's thought. "You had the presence of mind to make that phone call, and keep my brother safe until help arrived. Thank you."

Next thing I knew, I was in a Hale-hug-sandwich. Which wasn't as bad as I had feared it would be...not that I ever thought about being hugged by either or both of them at the same time, but...ah, forget it.

Rose invited me to come back to their place for the night, but I told them I would be OK.

And I knew I would be. They didn't blame me, so half of my guilt was already gone.

I could only hope that Edward felt the same way.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters._**

**Chapter 22**

**Nightgown of the Sullen Moon**

_Drug trip, it's not a drug trip so you feel a bit insulted_

_Space walk, it's like a space walk with the corresponding weight loss_

_And you're nothing but air, with your hand in the air_

_And your shoelaces tied up together with care_

_There's a feeling of boredom_

_Of the big whoredom_

Excerpt from "Nightgown of the Sullen Moon" by TMBG

**EPOV**

My shoulder rests against the wall for support. My slippers are slippery, but Dr. Cullen said I couldn't get the ones with tread for another day. He said my family could bring them and drop them off for me.

I walk slowly, my shoulder dragging along the wall, so I don't fall. I pick my feet up, even though I feel like shuffling.

I don't touch the built-in wooden handrail, but I'm not afraid of germs right now. I can't explain it. I always knew on some level that the germs weren't as bad as I feared, but my mind told me that they _could_ be, and the potential outcome wasn't worth the risk.

Now I have a new understanding, one of having the same patterns in my brain, but the fear is gone. It has been replaced with...nothing.

Even so, I don't touch the handrail.

Why?

I don't know. I guess I just don't want to. I have a coping mechanism. I can slide down the hall with my shoulder pressing for support. That works for me. Why touch the rail if I don't _have_ to?

It takes me several minutes to walk from my room to the counter where pills are given. The first day, I stayed in my room and hoped no one would notice.

They noticed. Two very large assistants showed up with a nurse who had my pills in a paper cup on one side of the tray and a syringe on the other. She said it was my choice.

I took the pills.

She told me it was very inconvenient for her to have to walk all the way down the hall to give me my "meds." She asked me if I could be more responsible at lunchtime.

I said I would.

I heard the nurse tell one of the assistants as they left that I threatened a man the day before, and reminded them to keep an eye on me, that I could be _violent._

I stand on line with the other patients. No one wears an expression I understand.

Lips are down, but not frowning.

Eyes are partly closed, but they don't look like sleepy.

Everyone wears their pajamas. They told me I could, too, if I wanted, but I don't like wearing pajamas all day. Instead, I sleep in my boxers and t-shirt and when I wake up, I put a pair of khakis on.

It's my turn.

The nurse has neon cats on her scrubs. Yesterday they were suns and moons. Also neon.

I can easily read her expression: scowl, which means angry or displeased. I don't think she likes giving the "meds" very much.

I asked her on the first day if her hands were clean before I took the cup.

I discovered she likes questions even less than giving meds.

I walk to the dining room-slash-craft room.

There is a tray with a sheet of paper with E. Mason. It's the only one that's left. It must be mine.

I eat alone. I look around. Everyone else eats alone too, even the two men in the corner who sit at the same table.

I stare at the tray.

I have oatmeal, which I requested, rather than eggs. The portion is too small. I can tell even without measuring.

However, I don't feel like doing exercise, so I don't expect that losing weight will be much of a concern.

I have tea. It's plain black tea, but it's boiling hot. I blow, and watch the surface tension break and dark, hot liquid splash the sides of the Styrofoam cup.

I wipe away the small bit that lands on my nose with the back of my hand.

I didn't ask for them, but there are two strips of bacon on my tray. The first day, I got eggs and bacon and toast and coffee. I didn't eat any of it.

They didn't say anything, but gave me a form to fill out so I could request some things I might like.

The nurse's aide who gave me the form was very kind. She looked at me in the eyes. I know she sees me. Most of the nurses don't look at the patients in the eyes. They call out names, look at charts.

She brought me two apples after therapy. I asked her if I could wash them with soap and water in the bathroom, and she said that was fine.

I had asked for oatmeal and an apple and some herbal tea.

I wondered if I got the wrong tray. Or perhaps my order was misread.

I won't ask. I stopped asking questions yesterday; they get upset and write on your chart when you ask questions.

Then, they ask you to explain in group or in one-on-one therapy.

They don't seem to like my explanations.

I discovered yesterday that if I don't ask questions, I'm bothered less with pointless explaining of _my_ questions. Of course, if they want me to do something they always tell me.

Why ask someone to explain _why_ it's important that they ask _why_ they didn't get the breakfast they were told they could order?

I don't eat the bacon.

I leave my tray on the roll cart by the door, and shuffle to my room. I don't have to rest my shoulder on the wall, because I'm a little more awake now.

Emmett and Rosalie brought my clothes on the first day. I didn't get to see them, but Dr. Cullen said they brought them.

I button up the shirt. It's soft. I've left on the t-shirt I was wearing under my dress shirt when—

I don't follow the thought, but I blink and feel moisture on my eyelashes.

I skip back a few hours...to when I put the shirt on in the first place.

It was Friday morning. Bella hugged and kissed me. And then I fucked up.

I walk to the men's room. This is my least favorite task. All showers are monitored, and I only _have_ to take one every third day.

Tomorrow is that day. I'll worry about it, then.

For now, I have to make do with the sink. No one monitors its use, unless I ask to use my razor.

My skin itches with my growing facial hair.

I wash my face five times using my soap, which Emmett and Rosalie brought me.

I brush my teeth twice. Twice always feels right.

I floss. Once. As always.

I don't wash anything else. I tried to on the first day, but they complained about the water mess.

I try not to look at the man in the mirror, but before I can comb my hair, I have to see.

I look like the other patients. No expression.

I think about how I feel. I've always done a good job of tracking my feelings, but here, where it matters, where they ask me _often_ to explain how I feel...

I have nothing to say.

My face wears that feeling: nothingness.

I conjure up a time recently when I saw myself in the mirror. I remember how I looked after I put my mouth on Bella. I want to get lost in the memory, but it doesn't feel the same. I try to make this face match that one.

It's not the same, either.

I remember my face after I—

I close my eyes and shake my head. I don't think I can make that expression, either.

I pick up my comb and focus on making the part in my hair.

I hear the comb scrape my scalp more than I feel it today.

~~§•§~~

The man to my right has a bandage on his left cheek and ear. He lays his head in his hand, covering the bandage. He told the group yesterday that he's ashamed, but he didn't say why.

It's hard to understand him talk. I think whatever happened to his cheek caused damage to his jaw.

The man who sits to my right is old. He never speaks. He nods a lot, though. He seems to agree with every statement, even if doing so is contradictory.

"Do. _You_. Have. Anything. To _Say_, Ernie?" the therapist who is "facilitating" group therapy asks the old man to my left. Her words are big and loud and over-articulated.

He moans.

It's my turn.

"Edward?"

I look up. This one is nice. She smiles a lot, but she doesn't grin. Sometimes she smiles with her eyes, too, but never for me.

"Will you tell us how you're feeling this morning?"

I hate this part. I don't know what to say. Every answer seems to be the wrong one.

I watched everyone carefully yesterday, trying to figure out how to behave so that they wouldn't say things like "that will not help you in your recovery, Edward" and "Do we need to adjust your medication?"

Both of those statements mean I won't be getting out of here, soon. I desperately want to leave. Right now.

"Desperate," I said.

"Can you be more specific? What do you feel desperate about?"

I know better than to say I want to leave. They increased one of my medications after I said that, yesterday. Dr. Cullen says they worry that I'll try to break out because they say I have a history of violence.

I've never hit anyone other than Emmett since I was a kid. Is that what they mean?

I can't lie. I just can't.

So, I say the other truth. The one I that won't upset anyone but me.

"I'm desperate to see Bella," I say.

My eyes tingle.

"Is Bella your," she looks at her notes, "girlfriend?"

"She's..." I falter. What can I say?

"She's beautiful," I finish and let out a heavy breath of air with the confession.

"Edward, I think it would be best if you focused on your emotions about your OCD behaviors. Why don't you tell me how that's going today. Any uncontrollable compulsions?"

I look up at her again. She has brown hair. Bella's hair is brown.

"No," I say.

"What about your mysophobia...um...how many times did you wash your face this morning?"

"Five," I answer.

"You washed your face five times yesterday, too."

I nodded.

"If I asked you to only wash your face three times tomorrow, do you think you could?"

"Yes."

"Will you do that?"

"No," I said.

"Why not?" She asks, writing on my chart.

"I like to wash my face five times. It feels right."

"What would happen if you _don't_."

This is where I would normally feel the fear.

I swallow.

I don't feel it.

But something is wrong. Why does she care how many times I wash my face?

I search for clues in her expression, but all I see is that smile. It's nice enough, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Her pen is poised to write.

"I don't know," I say. "I suppose I'll have to make do with three. But I won't like it."

She writes that down.

She moves on to the man with the bandage.

He tells us that he's ashamed because he failed. He tells her is sadness level is at a 9 out of 10. She writes that down.

They don't use levels with me.

I told them yesterday that the numbers are arbitrary, and I had no idea how to use them.

She asks the man if he still wants to hurt himself today.

He nods and cries.

~~§•§~~

Dr. Cullen introduces me to my psychiatrist, Dr. Eleazar. He offers his hand and I stare at it and then look at Dr. Cullen.

I'm not allowed to wear latex gloves. I did _take_ a pair from a box setting on the counter at the nurses' station my first night here and hid them in my pants pocket (I made sure the ends were _not_ sticking out), but now seems like a bad time to use them.

Dr. Eleazar nods his head. The hand he had meant for me to shake gestures to a chair in front of his desk.

I sit.

"So, Edward. Dr. Cullen says that you had an episode a couple days ago while at work?"

I nod.

"You have acute mysophobia?"

"Not now," I clarify.

"Yes, that's the meds, and that's what we're here to discuss. Dr. Cullen told me that you don't _want_ to be on medication, but according to your in-patient therapy records, it seems to be helping," he continues to speak about meds and dosage.

He smiles.

I am compelled to respond with a mirroring gesture. I remember Dr. Cullen saying something about getting people on your side.

"I can shake your hand now if you will take me off the medication," I say.

I try to smile.

Dr. Eleazar laughs.

"Yes, but what happens a week from now, when I ask you to shake my hand?"

"I don't know," I answer.

"That's why you're on the meds, Edward," he says.

"Because I don't know how I'll respond a week from now?" I ask, hoping he'll clarify.

Dr. Eleazar sighs loudly.

Oh, no. I asked a question.

I immediately feel foolish.

I wonder if I should mention that later. It is the first feeling (other than desperation) that I've had since I came here.

"Yes, Edward," he says. "I want you to be able to function normally. Isn't that why you're here?"

"No, I want to get well," I say. "I think I function pretty normally already."

"What would 'well' look like to you Edward?" he asks.

"I don't understand your question," I say.

"I think I can help, if I may?" Dr. Cullen says.

Dr. Eleazar nods.

"Edward. Remember when we talked about goals? Would you tell Dr. Eleazar what your goals are?"

"Yes," I say. "I want to be able to take care of myself: shop for groceries and clothes. Go to meetings and converse with people. I don't think it's important to shake hands, but I would like to feel more comfortable while standing within eighteen inches of someone. I want to be with Bella, to have sex with her and not worry about STDs. And I want to..."

I hesitate. Will they make me do all of these things before I leave?

"Edward?" Dr. Eleazar says.

"That's all," I say. "That's all for today," I add because I cannot lie. There is something I want to do, but I don't want to do it today. I don't even want to think about it today.

But it is a goal.

For her.

~~§•§~~

A squirrel is running back and forth. Scurrying. I can almost hear the rustling of the leaves. I watch it pick up something...a nut? Then, turn it over and over, then drop it, then run up the tree.

The same behaviors over and over.

What good does it do the squirrel to run up the tree each time?

It gets no benefit from it.

That squirrel seems _nervous as hell_. Emmett said that once about me. I asked him what he meant. He said it meant so nervous it was impossible to be calm.

The squirrel is nervous as hell.

I think I should laugh now, but I can't.

I'm not nervous as anything anymore. On the other hand, I also don't feel like doing anything.

There's a piano in this room. I asked if I could play it yesterday.

They said no; it's locked.

I sat on the bench yesterday and stared at it.

The nurse came over twice to tell me that I couldn't play.

I don't know why she thought I wouldn't remember after she told me the first time.

There is no "arts and crafts," today, but we are allowed to come into the room and have "rec" time. There are games.

Two aids aides are playing monopoly with one of the patients.

The television is on.

I go to the shelf and look at the books. I find one with sudoku puzzles. All but the hard ones are completed.

I want to complete all of them, but think better of it. Who knows how long I'll be here?

I pull a pencil out of an unopened packet on the shelf.

I complete three and put it back on the shelf.

I put the pencil in the book.

~~§•§~~

"Edward, tell us how you've been coping with your OCD compulsions today."

This therapist is like Dr. Cullen. She doesn't write as much. I like her a lot.

"Good," I say.

Tonight's session is about how to deal cognitively with our problems.

"Can you give me an example?"

"I don't understand," I say.

"Well, what do you do when you have a compulsion to measure or avoid touching something that you feel is contaminated?"

"I don't."

"You don't...touch it? Or..."

"I don't have compulsions."

"At all?"

"Correct," I say.

It's true. Other than just wanting to do things because it feels right...like a good habit, I don't feel any fear.

Also, Dr. Cullen said I can't get off these meds until I can show them that I'm not afraid to _not_ do my OCD behaviors.

Because I'm _not_ afraid, I decide I'm going to prove it, even if it makes me uncomfortable. I need to get out of here.

"Good, that's very good, Edward. Would you be willing to do an assignment tomorrow?"

"Yes," I say. This is it. This is how I can prove it.

"I want you to _not_ repeat cleaning behaviors, like washing hands, face, teeth, et cetera. So, if you wash your face in the morning, you just do it once, OK?"

"OK," I say.

"Is there anything you've done that is unusual?"

"Um," I don't know what she means, but every time I say I don't understand, people roll their eyes like Rosalie. But they do it more often than she does.

It makes me uncomfortable, but I don't know why.

"I thought I saw you solving a sudoku puzzle earlier," she says.

"I'm sorry. Someone else had solved the others in it. I thought it was OK."

"It is, Edward. It's fine," she said.

"Oh," I said, understanding what she meant. "You mean, because someone else had touched it, I should be afraid. But I'm not afraid anymore."

I smiled. I was actually very uncomfortable, and washed my hands twice after, but I wasn't afraid.

I certainly wasn't sweating, and that was new.

~~§•§~~

As I walk down the hall to my room, I feel my nighttime meds "kicking in." My body feels heavy, and I want to lean against the wall, like I have to do in the morning.

I pass by other patients' rooms. Each door is open a crack. Mine is at the far end of the hall.

The end of the hall seems farther away tonight.

The man with the bandage on is face has his door open. As I pass by, I see a nurse's aid aide sitting in a chair next to his bed.

She watches the man.

I stop and stare, because I don't understand.

The nurse looks up at me.

"Go to bed Edward," she says.

"I don't understand," I say.

She looks away from me, but doesn't answer my question.

I go on to my room.

I lie on the bed. It makes a funny noise. I think there may be plastic under the fitted sheet. I have to be still in order to fall asleep.

I think about Bella. I wonder if she's thinking of me. I wonder if she is angry with me for failing.

I hope she understands that I want to get better.

I have goals.

Dr. Cullen says I can make phone calls in the morning.

I know who I'm going to call.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**_

**Chapter 23**

**The World's Address**

_I know you deceived me, couldn't sleep last night_

_Now my tear stains on the wall reflect an ugly sight_

_I can see your secrets_

_No need to confess_

_Everyone looks naked when you know the world's address_

Excerpt from "The World's Address" by TMBG

**BPOV**

Was I Medusa?

I dodged chairs and tables, making my way to the refrigerator to get my sandwich. I normally avoided this room at lunchtime, but today...I just didn't fucking care.

I always thought that the worst thing to ever happen would be to have an entire room full of people staring at me. Judging me.

I was wrong. This was much worse.

Hm. Perhaps time stood still...

This was unrelenting embarrassment. I moved and people immediately looked anywhere but my face. They froze as I approached and I heard whispering as I walked away...

They were talking about what I did, or what I caused when I brought Edward in here.

I supposed. I wasn't actually sure, because no one was talking to _me_.

I wanted to ask _Alice,_ but I couldn't even think her name without getting red-faced and furious.

I took my sandwich and headed to the roof terrace. I had snagged Alice's keys this morning while she was in a meeting. I knew I could be up there and no one would bother me.

Dr. Cullen said that Edward would be allowed to make a phone call around noon, today.

I still had his cell phone. He was supposed to call it.

I sat on the bench next to the door and looked out. This wasn't nearly the tallest building in the area, so I was mostly looking at other buildings. They were shiny and glass-covered. It was too bright to be able to see inside any of the offices.

I shoved a big bite of sandwich in my mouth and chewed. I looked at the clock on the phone. 12:07.

I set it down, and decided not to think about it.

I mean, he wasn't the only one who'd want to use the phone. Perhaps there was a line, right?

I finished most of my sandwich before it rang.

_Unknown Caller_

"Hello?" I said.

_Shit! What if it's not him!_

"_Bella?"_

"Edward?"

"_That's correct."_

I expelled a held breath and immediately sucked in another so I could respond in a rush: "I'm so sorry, Edward."

"_No, _I'm_ sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't able to..."_ he didn't finish his thought.

And he sounded...odd—his voice, that is. It was quiet, even _more_ monotone than usual, and seemed far away, even for being actually far away.

Much different than he'd sounded on the floor of the restroom last Friday.

"Hey, it's OK. You're going to be OK."

I wasn't sure why I said that...

"_I'm glad to hear you say that, Bella. It's really hard to be here."_

"I can't imagine what it must be like," I said. "Dr. Cullen said you might be there a while because you want to leave off meds. Why is that? Just get some meds and come home."

OK, where did this selfishness come from? I wasn't sure...I _was_ sure that I hated the idea of him in that place.

"_I don't know. It's a possibility. But I'm already doing better. I'm learning to adapt. There are a lot of rules here. I think...if I can learn and continue to follow them, I'll be able to get out...soon."_

"Will they let me visit you?"

"_Soon."_

Hm. That wasn't very forthcoming. Not at all like Edward.

"_I actually don't know exactly when. When I ask, they don't respond with anything conclusive or definite. I think _they_ know what they want me to do, but they aren't telling me."_

"Do you get to see Dr. Cullen? Can't he tell you?"

"_I've only had two brief sessions with him since I got here. He promised me an hour twice this week. I haven't asked him about that, actually. I've been trying to figure out how to get out of here."_

I thought about what I just said. Didn't it occur to him to just play along? That's certainly what I would do, especially if I didn't want to be there.

And he clearly didn't want to be there. Did he?

Suddenly the thoughts rushed out again: "I miss you. It's really hard without you. I think of fifty things I want to tell you...and, I can't call you, and—"

"_—Bella?"_

"Yeah."

"_I know this...all of this has been hard for you. I know that I'm not an easy person to...spend time with. I know it's hard, but if you can just give me some time..."_

"Time?"

"_Yes, I was hoping that I could convince you that—"_

"—NO!"

"_No?"_

"I mean, yes, I'll give you as much time as you need, but...um, I'm not...that's not going to happen. I'm not going to end this."

His sigh was loud and full of relief; seemed I wasn't the only one holding my breath.

"Edward, I'm _not_ mad at you. I'm mad at several people, but not you. I'm even mad at myself for not _doing_...something. I don't know..."

He waited for me to finish.

"I wish that I...I _knew_ Marcus wasn't feeling well...I saw him...I just...I really thought he'd keep his distance, but he'd been out all week. And he rarely reads his email anyway. I should have _known_."

"_No, Bella, I don't need for you to enable me. That's not your responsibility. I need to take care of things myself. I need to learn how."_

Wow.

I sat there, wind blowing my hair all over the place, the sky seeming a bit grayer than it was moments before. Was it?

"_There is something I do need right now, though."_

His voice was quiet.

"Really?"

My mind automatically went _there_. I stuck my hands in my jacket pocket, finding the latex glove I carried with me everywhere I went.

"_Yes."_

"OK. I mean...can you _do_ that where you are?"

"_Do what? Talk to you? I don't understand."_

"Um...are you gonna," I cleared my suddenly dry throat, "talk about...sex...over the phone?"

"_Pardon?"_

"Er..."

"_Bella, I'm so sorry. Um, do you need that from me, right now? I will happily talk you to orgasm, if that's what you need, but that's not what I'm talking about._"

Shit. I feel like a pile of useless shit.

"No...I just...I misunderstood you."

That was a first.

"_Bella. I'm so...I don't have...It's odd, but I just don't feel...well, anything, right now. I feel remorse, somewhat, and desperate to leave, but I don't feel sexual, or happy, or scared or hungry or anxious or _anything_, anymore."_

What. The. Fuck.

"I don't understand, you don't have feelings?"

"_No. I never thought I would miss them...and I don't know that I do, necessarily, but I feel...empty. It's uncomfortable, but I'm not scared about germs and I don't feel the need to measure, so...I guess that's the trade."_

I swallowed.

Did Edward getting better mean no more sex?

Was I OK with that?

What did it mean if I wasn't?

My stomach twisted into evil knots as it threatened to expel my recently consumed sandwich.

I covered my mouth, in anticipation.

"_Bella?"_

He needed something. I could worry about me later. Right now, I had limited time with him.

"Please tell me what you need. I want to help."

"_I was afraid you...that you might change your mind, once you understood."_

"No...just...please tell me, Edward."

"_I need you to _know _that whatever happens...I'm going to make it better."_

I remembered Esme.

"OK. It's OK, Edward."

The lie came out so easily, I wondered later if I actually said it, "Everything's going to be fine. You'll see."

~~§•§~~

Dr. Cullen's office loomed intimidatingly in front of me like a giant tower built by crazy people.

It was my idea to meet him while Edward was in the hospital. Not to check on Edward, but to get help dealing with my own issues.

Now that I was here, I was considering letting the apocalypse just come right on in.

The waiting room reminded me of this conservatory I saw once in a turn-of-the-century mansion: tall windows with ornate Art Nouveau details, plants everywhere. The faint smell of mustiness permeated the air.

I wondered how Edward tolerated this. Wouldn't he worry about mold?

But then I remembered that when Edward came here, he waited in the hallway, next to Dr. Cullen's office door. We never even sat in the waiting room.

I looked around the room.

These people looked a lot different from the ones at the clinic.

I sighed with relief. This would be _much_ easier than that had been. On so many levels, I knew I couldn't imagine them all.

All of Dr. Cullen's patients (clients? I wasn't sure how that worked, exactly) were well-dressed and groomed. Even the emo teenager with spiky bright red hair and three lip rings.

His...mother?...ignored him and perused Oprah Magazine, while he stared at me.

I think. I checked the patient sitting next to me. He was reading National Geographic and periodically fiddling with his long limp hair.

He seemed too young to be mostly bald, but then I watched in horror as he pulled a strand free from his scalp.

I looked back at Tickle-Me-Emo, and he seemed to be as shocked as I.

We shared a moment of "we're more normal than him" solidarity, and then ignored each other.

Dr. Cullen called Mr. Hair-plucker to his office for a brief chat, then Nightmare on Sesame Street and his mother.

Then it was my turn.

I wasn't sure how anyone who seriously needed his help could benefit from ten minutes of his time, but...was it rude to ask?

I decided I would ask Edward next time I talked to him.

"So, Bella..." he sighed and touched a new, thin folder sitting on the table next to him.

My heart raced. I have a file.

He saw my nervousness and left it lying there.

He set the pen in his hand on top of it. He knew it made me nervous. It was just like last time with Edward.

Was he trying to get me used to the idea?

I took a breath and chose not to focus on the fact that we weren't just here to shoot the shit.

Or anything else for that matter.

I smiled at him and relaxed into the couch.

"Would you mind telling me how you're coping with all of this...with Edward's going to the hospital?"

"Um...I don't know."

He watched me and smiled with sympathy. He was giving me time.

But no "yes or no" grapefruits? What the fuck was up with that?

I decided to let that go and move on. If we just sat here and didn't speak for an hour, it would only be a waste of _my_ time.

I thought about the glove in my pocket, the wine in my fridge and the DVDs scattered across my living room.

Other than the glove it was another day in paradise.

"I have a glove."

I peered up at his face long enough to see him look down and pursed his lips together in a subtle attempt to keep from smiling.

When he looked over my shoulder and scratched his chin, I looked away.

"Does it help you to feel closer to him?" He finally said.

"Yeah," I said. "It's not just about...um, sex with him, though...you know?"

"I know," he said, simply. "You miss him. You still have his phone, too, right?"

"Yeah."

Fucking lot of good it does me.

"Well, doesn't it make you feel good that he can call you at anytime?"

"Yeah," I said.

"So, I know it makes you uncomfortable, but could you give it a try, as an experiment? Just...look at me. I've asked you to do it, and when you're done, you don't have to look at me again today, but I just want you to try it out, and then we'll talk, OK?"

I nodded.

Then, I looked at Dr. Cullen, studying him carefully for the first time.

I don't normally do that. I generally look anywhere but at a person's face. I mean, if I looked at their face, they might look back, and then I'd have to acknowledge that I looked at them, and they might talk to me, or ask me questions.

No, it was much better to come across as aloof, snobby or elitist, than to risk having to talk to people.

Of course, that's my problem.

Right, I'm looking at the man in front of me.

He stared back out of sharp blue eyes. He had the wrinkles that proved that he laughed a lot. There were very few creases between his brows and on his forehead. I guess he wasn't much of a worrier...or if he was, he kept it inside.

Like me.

No, _there_ was the worry, creasing his face.

So, perhaps not like me.

Hm. I'd say...he looked like a surfer dude who was forced to wear a collared shirt to work.

Linen instead of crisp cotton button-down.

Cords instead of khakis.

Loafers instead of lace-ups.

No socks.

No tie.

Yep. OK. And now I was really uncomfortable looking at him.

Was he judging me? What did he see when he looked?

Did he see me fidget? Did he wonder why I did it?

I found myself avoiding his eyes after the initial glance, and looking at his hair or shoulder instead.

"Bella?" he said, needing to speak to get my attention, as I failed my first assignment within moments.

"Yeah," I said, looking away in defeat.

"That was great work. I know it was hard. I needed you to do that so you could tell me how you felt."

"I don't know."

I glanced back at him.

_I don't know_ was not going to cut it.

I sighed.

"Nervous...I'm sweaty. It makes me uncomfortable to see you looking at me when I'm looking at you...It feels too intense...like, um..." shit.

How can I say that I feel judged?

"I guess...I, um...feel like you _might_ have been...um...judging me...er...just a little."

"I am," he said.

Wow, doc. Way to make me feel better.

I started hiding in my hair.

"I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that people don't judge you when they look at you. Making judgments is what people do. Sometimes they find things they like and sometimes they don't. _You_ can't control that. Does that bother you?"

"Fuck yeah!" I said, surprised at myself. I covered my mouth, and then cleared my throat. "I mean...doesn't it bother you?"

"I don't think about it much."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why do _you_ think you think about it?"

Shit. This is why I never went to therapy.

I sighed again.

"You do that a lot. Sigh. It's coping mechanism. You sigh to show your distaste with something, rather than deal with the problem. You think you communicate everything you need to with that gesture. How is that working for you?"

I hate this man.

I sighed again.

He stared at me, while I watched the ceiling.

This time, neither of us filled the silence.

A clock was ticking.

People were chatting in the hall.

The heat came on.

I sighed again.

I glanced up at Dr. Cullen.

He smiled, but didn't speak.

Fuck. I know what he's doing.

I cleared my throat.

"I know what you're doing," I said.

"OK," he said.

Fine. He wants a verbal response.

"It's working out great," I said.

He smiled.

"Tell me some things you do to avoid speaking. Tell me about how you cope."

"I sigh," I said.

"Oh," he said, tapping his temple with a knobby finger, "I got that one."

Then he winked at me.

Fuck.

I blushed.

So, he's cute. Sue me.

"I don't look at people," I said, sticking with the obvious.

"What about when you go to the bank, to open an account, and they ask you a lot of questions?"

Shit.

Fucker.

"I've never done that," I said.

"Really? So, how do you deal with your paychecks?"

"I have an account," I said.

"How did you—"

"—my _**sister**_, OK?"

"Your sister, the one I met, Alice? She set up the account?"

"Yeah. And she's my _only_ sister."

Thank kittens.

"How often do you depend on other people to deal with situations that make you uncomfortable?"

"A lot."

"Could you give me a percentage?"

"One hundred."

"But that can't be true, can it?" he had this incredulous look on his face, but his tone suggested he found this situation funny. I expected him to laugh any minute.

Crows feet. Laugh lines. It was bound to happen.

"Bella, you made this appointment on your own. You spoke with the receptionist when you came in, I checked. You've been talking with me...most importantly, you called my emergency line when Edward needed you."

"Fine. Eighty percent."

"You know what?"

He waited for me to respond.

I sighed. Was he was going to make me respond to _every_ question_?_

"What?" I said.

"It's OK for you to depend on people. Sometimes. We _all_ do that. What's wrong here, is you are _avoiding_ situations, doing things that actually take a lot more effort on your part to avoid than to just do. Do you see the difference?"

Now he's talking to me like I'm an idiot. Of course I understand this.

"Yeah, I get it," I said.

"Thanks for that, by the way."

"What?" I asked.

"Answering with a complete sentence," he said.

"You are welcome," I said, speaking the words loudly and slowly as if to a non-English speaker or old person.

Dr. Cullen picked up my file and started writing. Without looking up, he said, "Shelly will give you an appointment card for next week if you decide you want to come back."

I took that as my cue, picked up my jacket and left.

No "bye" ritual, then.

OK.

Maybe I can do this.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N, PLEASE READ: This chapter is different. Please don't try to "figure it out." Resist the temptation. Read it like it's a new story, and you don't know anything. Just go for the ride and enjoy it. I'll meet you on the other side. **

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**

**Inappropriate Touching**

**Chapter 24-No One Knows My Plan**

_No one understands_

_No one knows my plan_

_I must be silent, must contain my secret smile_

_I want to tell you_

Excerpt from "No One Knows My Plan" by TMBG

I hate the smell of car exhaust. It's even worse when it's my _own_ exhaust. My car's windows are cloudy with it, along with the film that was left over from chain smoking for twenty years.

I quit. Finally. And then took up eating as a hobby.

I pull up to the drive-thru window and pay in small bills and change to the bored teenager on the other side. I've carefully counted out the change, and this moron drops it all in the drawer without paying attention, and then turns to me and asks if it was the right change, or if he owes me anything.

I nod that it was the right change.

"Cool," he says.

He hands me a half-gallon of coke, a sausage biscuit and some deep-fried potatoes. I never can remember what they're called. When I was growing up, my grandma called them hash browns, but we kids called them tater-tots. And every fast food chain has its own name.

I just can't keep up.

All I know is I need to get in early, because Eileen called in sick and she's always the first in to do prep.

And it's still dark outside. Too early.

I rub my eyes, and then remember that patient who rubbed his eyes the other day. That young one with the old man hairstyle.

I fish my breakfast from the greasy paper bag, trying to eat while driving a stick shift. The traffic's not too bad on the bridge, so I think I'll get there even earlier than I planned.

I hope they remember that next month, so I can ask for a raise.

I swipe my ID at both security doors, and head straight for the locker room. I toss my garbage in the trashcan on the way, and stow the rest of my soda in the refrigerator for lunch.

I stand outside the nurses' station in the hall, so I can direct patients as they pick up their morning meds.

My feet aren't hurting today, but my knees are killing me. I've been avoiding surgery for two years. I think I'm about at my limit. I lean to the left and put more of my weight on the one that's hurting less.

Most patients are easy, especially after they've been here for twenty-four hours—long enough to get good and drugged up.

I'm pretty sure we could line them up for an anal gang-bang and they'd not bat an eyelash after being pumped full of Vitamin X.

Not that I ever touch the stuff, but there's plenty in my apartment building that'd be willing to hand me five hundred bucks to make a bottle or two disappear from the shelves, so they can make a bundle at raves or whatever.

As if it were that easy.

And then I see him.

The beard on his face sort of suits him. But I don't think he's really into that whole grunge look. I think he'd really rather be clean-shaven, only he doesn't want to be watched.

Then again, who _does_ want to be watched as they shave?

I'm supposed to help the nurses keep an eye out for patients that tongue their meds.

Usually, if there's suspicion, we have to keep a really close watch, and the red headed weirdo I'm watching is the one on their radar today.

He waits before swallowing. I'm tempted to tell him how to get away with it, so I can sell his junk back home.

But I'm not gonna do that. I'm not actually a bad person, but everyone _thinks_ about doing stuff they'd never actually do. Fantasizing.

He mumbles a lot. He looks at me like he's about to ask a question and then mumbles and looks away.

He swallows his meds, and I ask him to open his mouth. He does, but only after looking around at...I don't know what. He lifts his tongue, and then shuffles to the dining room, where the bacon I've added to his order will go untouched.

Second breakfast for me.

OK. I know that's not right either, but really; it's a victimless crime.

I watch him from across the room. He used to sag his shoulders more, but today he looks more sure of himself.

The dark smudges under his dull eyes tell a different story, though.

I really don't know what that story is, but I'm sure it's full of heartbreak, lost sleep, sadness and probably a daddy with a stiff punch or something.

I sit near Harold, the guy on suicide watch, during therapy. His bandage will have to be changed out, and I know I'm going to be the one that has to do it. He cries every time, and I want to cry with him, but that's not helpful. I go over the routine in my head, hoping that if I can focus on the _work,_ I won't have to get pulled in by the _face_.

The redhead sits there and hardly speaks. He used to talk more. Now, he hardly even answers questions.

He's even stopped talking about _her_.

He smiles but I can tell it's a lie.

The first night he was here, I had night duty. So, I walked the halls, sticking my head in the door of each patient room, just to make sure no one had tried to hang themselves.

Don't laugh. It happens.

Before I even got to his door, I heard him moaning.

He was crying in his sleep, and saying "Bella, Bella, Bella!"

He moaned "Bella" all night.

On the one hand I kind of felt sorry for the guy, but by two a.m. I was over it. I begged the RNs to give him a shot or something.

They said they didn't have orders for that.

Figures. They weren't the ones who had to listen to him until six a.m.

Then, the next day, I heard he sat at the piano for two straight hours at rec.

Gianna, the head nurse, told him that he couldn't play it, like, ten times and he never responded, she said.

So, every day at rec, he just sits there and stares at it.

I mean, I don't know if he can play or not, but maybe the guy really wants to play. Don't they think it could be therapeutic?

I asked Gianna, and she told me to go pull charts for group therapy while the patients were doing art.

I shouldn't be staring at him, but he's the cutest crazy we've gotten in here for a long time.

And he kind of looks like...

Well there was this guy, when I was in high school. He was redheaded and cute, and he really only wanted to get in my pants, but I was certain that I was in love with him, so it was OK.

And that's what it's all about.

Love.

The skinny weirdo wanders the halls and waits patiently for his turn with the phone.

He calls _her_ every day.

I'm too old for the guy, but I can't help but wonder what she's like; if she's like me, at all.

Not that it would make a difference, but if I'm like her...maybe it _means_ something, you know?

I heard he had some visitors last week, and today is a visitation day, so maybe I'll get to see her.

I relieve Bill, who's been keeping an eye on the patients waiting for the phone, when it's the cutie's turn.

Their conversation is brief.

He doesn't tell her he loves her.

Hm. Must not be _that_ serious, then. I mean, what's the point if no one falls in love, huh?

Then, you get pregnant at fifteen, get an abortion, and everyone calls you a slut.

But if you find a guy that loves you, then when you get pregnant again at seventeen, you get to quit school while he joins the army, dies in Desert Storm and you get benefits. Not enough to pay the bills, but love's good for something, right?

At least, that's my take.

I mean, I have my kid to _prove_ it.

I wonder if the redhead'd knock up his daily phone call?

Maybe he already has. Heh. Maybe that's why he's in here: had a nervous breakdown after he discovered he procreated.

When it's time for visitors, I go out to greet them and take them back. I want to see if I can figure out who she is—if she even comes to visit.

There are no preggers out there. As a matter of fact, there are only five people total. A couple of yuppies with a slight, long-haired woman who looks freaked out. Her eyes are bulging out of her tiny head, and she looks like she lives on rabbit food.

If she were my kid, I'd force feed her bacon and eggs every morning.

Hm. She might actually be an incoming patient.

The other two are a couple of dudes. Married by the look of the rings.

Hm. I guess the lady didn't show, but perhaps I should see about this nervous wreck.

See if she's waiting on her shrink to sign her in.

"Can I help you?" I ask the three.

The tall blond answers, "We're here to see Edward Masen. He's a patient."

Oh.

Is she...? Well, she's pretty, but she looks like she's here with the tall dark-headed guy.

He's even got his arm around her.

"Yeah. Visitation starts in," I look at my watch, "two minutes."

I smile.

The other woman has disappeared. I give directions to everyone about what is OK and not OK while visiting. Then, I lead them into the unit, and wait to see what happens.

I don't know why I'm so interested in this particular patient, but I think it's because I don't understand what's wrong with him.

I mean, he's not suicidal; he's not threatening anyone. He's quiet and funny about his food, but...

Of course, I didn't see him when he came in. Most people are pretty screwed up by the time they get here; that's why they get so doped up. _Then_, they can pull the meds back and the person emerges again...but for a day or two, or a little longer, they're usually no more than zombies.

I know that's not "PC." But if you had to stare into their vacant faces day in and day out, you'd make that connection, too.

I see the trio from the waiting room enter the visitor section of the ward. They wait on the couch. The gays stand near the window. I already know they're here to see the Failed Attempt.

Oh, here he comes—well, shuffles—and they all stand around and stare at each other.

The mousy brunette looks at him with longing and then hides in her hair.

I can't see his face, so I decide the books on the shelf need to be reorganized, so I head over to do that.

It's not my job, but I can see his face from over here. No one will fault me for organizing some books while keeping an eye on the patients.

He's watching her. Staring.

And there it is.

The spark.

The thing I _never_ see in patients while they're that medicated.

Then he reaches out and touches her. They kiss.

I wonder if he _does_ love her.

I hear him say, "I'm getting better. I really am. See?" he shows her by walking over to the shelf where I'm organizing. I hand him the sudoku book he finished last week.

He brushes my hand when he takes it and I shiver a little.

He thanks me.

I knew which book he wanted because it's the only book he's touched. I mean, most patients like to read the novels, but he's not interested in them.

He holds it out to the visitors like it's show-and-tell.

_See?_

I'm not sure why. They don't tell us much about the patients. Sometimes they do when we need to know so we can avoid the ones that are homicidal or keep an eye on the suicidal ones or whatever, but usually, they don't tell us shit. Something about HIPAA and "need to know."

All four of them look at the sudoku book like it's a map to pirate treasure.

Weird.

See?

The small woman reaches up and hugs his neck tightly and whispers in his ear. He holds her back. Then, he squeezes, his nose moving to her hair.

I hear him moan softly, like he does in his sleep.

When she pulls away, he stares at her like a hungry man, and pulls out a latex glove.

_Now how did he get that?_ I wonder.

I don't say anything because, what can he do with a glove?

Hm. I suppose he could purposefully choke on it.

Don't laugh. It happens. Suicidal people will do anything when they're desperate. There was a man once that ate the potting soil out of a houseplant. Now there are no real plants allowed inside the ward.

He's talking to the other two. He hugs them. They are crying.

Now it's just him and her.

They sit on the couch.

He touches her face. I find my hand on my own face, and I look around the room to see if anyone noticed.

Then, I hear him say, "Dr. Cullen says they're going to start decreasing some of my meds tomorrow. I'm going to get out soon. And I promise that things are going to be better, Bella."

It _is _her. She's the one.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles.

She whispers something else, sticking the glove he gave her in her pocket.

He _laughs_ loudly.

Everyone in the room stares at him.

Patients rarely laugh out loud.

He holds her for a moment, and I can see his nose in her hair again. His eyes are closed, and he looks...content.

In the books I read, that's how it's supposed to end. He loves her, she accepts him, they get married and have a boy who's the soccer star in college and a girl who marries a nice young doctor.

Will that happen with them?

She looks rich. I mean, her clothes look new, and her hair is shiny and her teeth are straight. If he got her pregnant, they wouldn't even have to discuss abortion. It would be OK.

I can see her in a white gown.

Oooh, he would look so nice in a tux.

She seems so quiet.

He seems so strong and sensitive.

I can see them with babies. Cute little red headed babies.

He even looks good with a beard, and I don't normally like those.

Suddenly, I'm _her_ in my fantasy. I'm thinner, like I was before I had the kid.

I'm cute, and perky, but passive, because he would like me passive, I think. I would never argue.

And he holds me tenderly.

And makes love like a tiger.

She leaves and I'm interrupted from my daydream by him standing next to me, putting the book back on the shelf.

I look at him with longing.

He stares right through me. The contentment is gone.

He walks over to the piano and sits on the bench and stares at the cover.

~~§•§~~

Gianna gave me the keys to open up the atrium. The patients get an hour out there in the afternoon, if it's not raining or snowing.

Today, it's warm, so everyone goes outside.

Except him.

He's still sitting at the piano.

Gianna stopped telling him he couldn't play over a week ago. She said she supposed that just sitting there wasn't a big deal.

I look at the keys in my hand.

Gianna just took her lunch break, and the nurse left in charge is Beth. She's always trying to help patients out. She's the only nurse I like. I don't think she'd say anything if I just did it. See what happens. What could it hurt?

I find the key to the piano. I know which one it is, because it's the only one I've never used.

I say, "Excuse me."

He looks up at me. He smiles a little.

I reach between him and the piano. I can feel his body heat.

I think I hear our hearts racing.

I turn the key.

**A/N: **

**Thanks to bornonhalloween for her fuck-awesome rec on Twislash (over a year ago?) It was because of her that I finally pulled both hands out of my ass and started typing again...I mean, it felt really good to have them shoved up there, but I think this is a more worthwhile use of my digits.**

**Thanks for all the love. We're almost there. HEA promised. Thanks for your patience.**

**Demon-A kicks ass, especially mine.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters.**

**Chapter 25**

**We Live In a Dump**

"_We live in a dump  
Admit it's a dump  
Our friends are all nuts  
And half of 'em drunks  
And if they're not nuts  
Then they're retired nuts  
And that might be the hardest nut."_

Excerpt from "We Live In a Dump" by TMBG

**BPOV**

I've always thought of myself as the kind of girl who is considerate of the environment. I recycle. I don't purchase overpriced coffee house beverages. OK, that's because I don't like to order and I'm not a fan of coffee.

Also, I'm cheap. I'm from old money. It's a thing.

Anyway, as I sat in my childhood bedroom, packing up a year's worth of junk, I seriously considered just chucking it all. Too much stuff. I felt bad about not wanting or needing it, and I felt bad about wanting to get rid of it. Books had been stacked on every surface; they collected dust as I found others that needed to be read right away. Which ones should I keep; the ones I actually read or the ones I failed to crack open?

Clothes strewn about made me smile for a moment, thinking it looked like I had a lot of impromptu sex...or that I was visited nightly by a maid from the Island of Misfit Toys. Guess which was the truth. I didn't need all of these clothes. I hated picking through them, deciding which ones were worthy of the time it would take to fold them and place them in a box.

Surely getting rid of all this stuff would be contributing to poor water supply...loss of fisheries or dead zones. It settled on me; a weight, a burden; throwing things away was supposed to clear my head and make me feel better. But this ocean of guilt made me hesitate to throw out moldy food, old books with broken spines and missing pages, clothes that had holes or stains, and even those shoes of Alice's that I ruined on the date-that-wasn't with Edward.

I had a washer box full of shit I didn't need, but I couldn't subjecting the homeless and needy to it, could I?

As I sat in the middle of an entitled upper middle-class dump feeling sorry for myself, I should have been thinking, _Gee, I'm so grateful that I have not one, but two rooves (rooves? roofs? roofuses?) over my head, plenty of food, a job, family and a boyfriend who is almost emotionally stable and is probably financially solvent, but all I want is to build a fort under my bed and read back issues of National Geographic for a month, and then, once I've rested, just start fresh with new clothes and everything and just leave all this junk here._

Compounding my inappropriate and misplaced despair, was Alice.

Alice, who had decided to take the moral high ground. She'd smoothed things over with Edward's boss and had promised to keep him on as IT consultant for the firm. She was also being apocalyptically nice to me.

Something had to be up with that.

I eyed her carefully as she glided in with a mug of tea in one hand and some cookies in the other.

"Here ya go," she said, her voice infused with the dulcet tones of polite evil.

"Thanks."

When our fingers touched, as I took the tea from her hands, I met her eyes. It was a mirror, one of the few twin things we shared, and for a second, she felt like my sister again. After that, all I felt were my prints melting off as I steadied the rim of the cup. The the plate of cookies she brought ended up on the floor since every other available space was covered in useless junk.

Holding the it gingerly, I brought the cup of boiling hot liquid to my lips and blew. The steam carried the smell of jasmine to my nose, and I closed my eyes to enjoy the moment, a small respite in the disaster of my room.

All it took to disturb that moment was a reverberating "**OH!**" and I instinctively jerked and spilled the tea down my chin and all over my hands and clothes, screaming silently in pain. "You need a coaster."

Like I said: _Evil_.

Dripping jasmine and raw red anger, I got up, sloshing a bit more on myself, and took the Manchurian tea to the bathroom and set it on the counter.

For fucks sake. A Greenland shaped splotch covered my chin. It started to tingle as I stared at it. I turned the water on cold and splashed my face repeatedly. Alice's voice in the bedroom warned me of her approach, so I could take care to stand away from the sink, smartly avoiding knocking the mug onto the tile floor.

"What the FUCK happened to your chin?!"

I pointed to the cup instead of the Satan who triggered it.

"Oh. My. Gawd. You stopped spilling randomly _years_ ago! What is it? Are you _nervous_ about moving? You know, it's not too late to change your mind!"

Her smile was a bit sheepish but it looked sincere.

This would be a great opportunity to set some boundaries and find out why she seemed so guilty.

_No, Alice, I'm not nervous about moving. It's just that I'm tired of you trying to control everything like Willow in season 6, and I know there's stuff you aren't telling me about that day Edward went apeshit at work. And you KNOW that I want to move, I've told you over and over. You just can't help it. You just have to be a rude bitch._

But then I reminded myself she wasn't _trying_ to be rude. I turned back to the mirror and observed myself dabbing at the mark with a towel. "No. I'm still moving back to my apartment. Just...someone yelled bloody murder as I was blowing on my tea to cool it."

"Jeez, what an asshole," she replied, opening the medicine cabinet to look for ointment.

~~§•§~~

"Yeah," I agreed.

Dr. Cullen sat back and steepled his fingers in that way he does to collect his thoughts. "So, you know what the problem is, but because you don't know how to solve it, you feel like you're back at square one."

Cue nod intended to convey thoughts I'd rather not say aloud. Only, this was when I _needed_ to start speaking, or waste my hour. "Yeah, I think of things to say, to tell her, or whatever, but...um." I shrugged, then looked up at the clock.

The second hand ticked slowly just to fuck with me.

"Can't I just say, 'Hey, Alice, I think it's your fault that my b...Edward...had a nervous breakdown, but it's OK, so don't be super-nice, just don't take over my life.' Or...something?"

"_You _have to do the work with setting boundaries with Alice. You have to decide where you want that line to be and communicate that to her. And you don't have to do it all at once.

"Let's get back to the packing day and the cup of tea. You said that you wished she'd stop trying to help you all the time. That's an opportunity to set a boundary with her."

"Yeah, I know," I said rolling my eyes.

I studied the scalloped edge of my shirt, then looked around, wasting time.

He was waiting patiently again. I felt his eyes move off of me followed by the sounds of ballpoint scratching lined paper. Was he only pretending to write something because he felt sorry for me? Or maybe he was doing it to give me space.

If that was it, I really appreciated it.

A deep breath caught in my chest as I silently coached myself. _This is where you practice. This is the safe place, where no one will interrupt you, and you can work on getting it just right._

"So, I could say," I blew out what felt like extra air and tried to sound sincere and not condescending or robotic, or both: "Hey, Alice, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I _need_ for you to...back the fuck off, and let me make my _own_ tea, and get my _own_ coasters—without your suggestion or input. You know? Maybe I don't even _want_ any tea, and...you know, I _like_ leaving rings on the furniture! You make me feel like a small stupid child when you do these things. And you do it on purpose! You _like_ to be the adult and make me into your child to take care of!"

Realizing what I said, I hurried to correct it, "I feel like a small child, and I worry that you want me to feel that way. That you like it."

There.

I looked up at Dr. Cullen and he smiled back at me. "Good work. You let her know your boundaries."

"I just feel...really silly saying it like that."

Suddenly it felt like all my clothes were made to fit someone else. I fidgeted with my shirt, tugging it to get it into a better position. I heard the threads in the seam at the empire waist rip a little. I felt under my breasts for a hole. Gladly there was none.

When I looked up, Dr. Cullen was writing in my file.

"That's normal. Anytime you word something differently than you usually would, it feels artificial...and it sort of is." He looked up and smiled at me. If he saw me fondling myself, he was playing it cool. "But that's OK. Your goal is to show Alice that you are willing to meet her halfway. From what you've told me, she's working on it, too. It's awkward—"

"That's an understatement."

"OK. And maybe it's always been awkward. So, then, what do you have to lose?"

Why did he have to be right all the damn time? I frowned and nodded. Alice was trying to give me room to speak my mind, and I would be foolish not to stretch out, just because it made me want to vomit.

"OK."

"OK?" His pen was poised to write something as he peered at me over his glasses.

"OK."

He smiled at me, and I...just smiled right back.

The something turned out to be an appointment. He held it out to me, between two fingers. "This has the date and time of Edward's next session with me. He's asked that you come, if you can."

After glancing at the information, I flipped it over. There was the hospital logo and Dr. Cullen's office information. Were those birds? Or was it a sunset? I furrowed my brow.

"Thanks."

Dr. Cullen tilted his head. "How do you feel about going to his session?"

I squeezed the card into a crumpled cylinder, then slid both hands between my legs. My hands warmed and and I breathed easier. I shrugged. This is one of the things we talked about, being able to communicate my feelings to others instead of making non-committal gestures and facial expressions. My eyes met his, and he waited.

"I don't know. I guess I feel...good? Nervous. Excited. Worried...because it didn't go so well last time."

"I disagree. I think that it went quite well," he said.

I barked a laugh. "Yeah, sure. Edward stormed out after I sort of," I rolled my eyes and mumbled, "attacked him."

"Yes, but he took a walk. You and I talked, and we worked some things out in the session. Surely you know that—"

"He had a nervous breakdown!" I yelled, then cupped my mouth.

"That had nothing to do with you, Bella," Dr. Cullen said, setting the file aside and leaning forward. He had that look; the one that said that he knew what I was thinking, and it was going to be OK.

"Sometimes things have to get a little worse before they can get better."

I scoffed.

"Yes, I know that sounds trite. It is, and it isn't. I'm not saying it to make your fears go away or to just smooth things over. I'm saying it because, in his case, I think it needed to happen. It _had_ to happen if he was going to make significant progress. Sure, he _was_ trying to get better, and you are a great motivation for him; but he needed to be on medication, and he wasn't willing to accept that. Now he is, and he's making huge strides. You've seen it."

I nodded.

He balanced his pen between two fingers, and peered at me over it. "What happened? Whose fault was it? I think we can all take a little responsibility. Me, I had a lot of confidence in him. I hoped he could do it without meds. I was wrong. Alice, sure, she could have done more to make sure Marcus didn't touch him. Marcus? Well, clearly his failure to read his email was the main culprit. Edward...that boy is constantly putting himself in impossible situations. He's very brave. You? I don't know what you could have done differently, Bella."

My finger moved in swirls as I traced the blue and orange arches in the logo, while I mulled over what he said.

"I should have never called him in the first place."

"Oh, Bella, I really have to disagree with you. Maybe it wasn't the right choice for you. I can't say if it was or wasn't. But I've been working with Edward for years. He was in a rut. He wasn't content. I don't think it's good for people to pin all their happiness on another person, but I don't think that's what happened with you two. I think you reminded him of all the things he was missing. I think you motivated him to try—for himself. You gave him a gift. Something his family and I were just unable to give him."

I almost laughed out loud. Surely he wasn't thinking about sex.

Fuck. I'm such a pervert.

My mouth watered as I remembered the latex glove in my pocket, and Edward whispering that he had touched himself with it in his room.

I wiggled on the couch. That was a far cry from our first conversation after he was hospitalized. How long had it been? Jeez, it felt like...a year or more, at least, when Edward told me he was afraid that he'd never want to have sex again. But once they got his meds Goldilocksed, the desire started coming back.

At first, I failed to notice that the Persian rug went out of focus. Swirls of salmon pink and blue faded into the background of my vision as the edge of the couch moved to high-def. Edward's couch was more what I imagined would be in a therapy appointment than this overstuffed red chenille number. Edward's couch. Not the best choice for sexy fun-times. Sticking to the black leather may be the stuff of romance novels, but it's impractical as hell. Then I blinked.

I cleared my throat.

"So. No regrets?" he asked.

Still admiring the soft fabric with the tips of my fingers, I shook my head.

I cleared my throat, again, and finally met his gaze.

"No regrets."

~~§•§~~

"No. _Your_ end out first." Alice dropped her end, then came around on my side so she could show me why.

"See?"

"Alice. It's a fucking headboard. The right's the same size as the left."

"Bella is correct," Jasper added.

"You're taking _her_ side?" I flinched when she stuck her knobby finger in my face.

"No, pumpkin, I'm taking the side of reality. Why don't you come join the rest of us."

Alice's eyes flashed and her fists balled up. But before her head exploded all over the stacked boxes and waiting furniture, she collected herself and took several deep breaths.

"Fine. But her side should go down first."

Jasper and I traded brief glances and concurred in a buddy-cop movie kind of way that it was time to move on and just get the fucking thing through the door.

"Fine, but you have to take this end, Alice. It will be a death worthy of the Darwin Awards if I lead this outfit going backwards down a dark scary stairwell."

Cue epic eye roll from Alice.

We were almost to the bottom, as I held the lower end with Jasper holding the middle so that my dominating sister could descend safely, when I realized why she didn't want to descend first.

I would have power over her.

Literally.

OK. Time to be brave. This is it.

"Alice, did you know that Marcus hadn't read that email?"

"Fuck!"

Her foot slipped, but she regained her composure.

She also deftly avoided answering.

After a few more steps, I decided to take her lack of response as a yes, so I asked, "What did I ever do to you?"

"Here?" she asked, stopping and setting her end down. "_Here?_ You want to do this right the fuck _**now**_?"

I set mine down, then grabbed a handrail for moral support while I waited for the echo to die down.

"Yeah, I do."

"Fuck it." Jasper, having already set the middle down when Alice and I dropped the ends, turned and ran back up the stairs, presumably to get another load.

"Alice, he cares about me and he actually _gets_ me. Do you realize how big that is? I finally found someone who doesn't want to fix me."

"But he has _serious_ emotional problems, _Bella_."

I felt my face flush. I moved my hand to an untouched part of the handrail in an attempt to cool myself.

"I know that. And..._believe_ me, it's not easy to be with him sometimes. But he tries, Alice, and he inspires _me_ to try."

She looked down at her barely-worn pink sneakers. "I can see that," she said with a voice that fit her size.

"Listen, Alice..." I took a breath. "I can see, now that...that it's better. No. That, Edward..._needed_ an impetus...Even though that was clearly _not_ your intent. But...there's still a part of me that _really_...**hates** that you—"

"**I'm SORRY**. _OK? _I'm fucking **sorry**. I fucked up. I did you wrong, little sis," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "I fixed it, though. I did all that stuff, and I'm playing nice and leaving you alone. Why can't you just be happy?"

I had to lean in to hear the next thing she said. "On top of that you single-handedly ruined my marriage and then you pushed me away. You don't need me, and who would? I'm a useless idiot."

She slumped down on the stairs and rested against the frame.

The bait just sat there.

"We need to get this bed frame down to the truck, sis. Come on; I can't do it alone."

The shadows under her eyes darkened when she looked up from this position. Vulnerable.

"You...don't you even _care_ anymore?"

"Of course I do."

Before she could argue, I held out my hand. "You _know_ I do. And we both know your marriage isn't ruined. That's the most pathetic lie I've ever heard."

She scoffed, but in an uncharacteristic show of good humor, grabbed my hand and stood. Her smile was an awkward thanks, but I would accept it.

It was hard with just the two of us, but we managed the frame. It was the vice that held us together until the glue had set. And when we reached the bottom of the stairs and handed the frame to Emmett and Rose, our eyes met again. And I was in her arms, her smell familiar and warm. For just a moment, we clung to each other. And when we parted, I could still feel her arms around me.

It felt nice.

~~§•§~~

"So, tell me how the move went."

"Alice still has a head."

I related what happened with minimal spitting and gyrating. Near the end, Dr. Cullen's head was down as he wrote.

"This is excellent work, Bella. Are you satisfied with the confrontation? I know it couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't. And..." I sighed remembering that this truce with Alice was tenuous at best, and nonexistent at worst. "I know there will be more to say...to, um, work through."

"Yes, you two have a lot to sort out, I imagine. And based on all the things you've told me about your childhood, I think it's safe to say that Alice didn't have an easy time of it either."

"Huh?"

"Well, she's the one who toes the line so you can cross it, Bella."

While he let that sink in, I remembered one afternoon. It had to be over a decade ago, because we were both living at home.

"_Mother called. She will be home in fifteen minutes!" Alice screamed from her bedroom. "Did you finish the dishes?"_

_Shit._

Pride and Prejudice _hit the floor as I threw myself off of the couch and into the kitchen, falling twice in socked feet on the freshly waxed parquet. Two bruised knees and a scraped elbow later, I was in the kitchen, yanking the dishwasher door open and almost pulling the bottom drawer onto the floor._

"_There's no __**time**__!" she screamed, following me into the room. "Go fold the towels! I'll wash these by hand."_

The memories of all those times our mother would pick over Alice for hours to make sure her hair was perfect and that her dress draped correctly ran like a vacation slideshow in my head.

While I never got more than an eye roll and a snide comment about being sloppy, Alice took the full strength of our mother's constant criticism. My sister was perfect to me, but never good enough for _her_. Her dress, her grades, her attitude, even her feelings were constantly analyzed and picked apart.

_"Cut that out, Alice. You can do better. You don't feel stupid, you just won't take responsibility for this grade. I won't accept it. Fix it. And stop frowning."_

All those hours she spent during her summers off college working alongside our mother while I read or wrote, Alice was protecting me. I don't know if she did it intentionally or not, but in the end, I she protected me more often than she threw me under the bus.

"How do you think she felt when she saw that you didn't need her as much anymore?"

I swallowed as I seriously considered her point of view for the first time. I wasn't used to empathizing with Alice, but I couldn't cover my eyes and run away from it.

"Hey, I know she smothers you."

"Understatement," I muttered.

Dr. Cullen nodded, "Well, she has some serious problems. I'd venture—and this is _not_ an official diagnosis," he said, pointing his finger at me, "so I can't really say without a proper evaluation—but, I think she's definitely got some underlying psychological trauma, and may even have borderline personality disorder. She's high-functioning, to be sure, but..." he paused as he wrote more on my chart.

"What's...um, what did you say? Borderline...?" I suddenly remembered that Winona Ryder film.

"Borderline personality," he said again, eyes flashing up to me for a moment before returning to his notes. "Basically, it means she is unable to see things, people, in shades of gray. She either loves and idolizes or hates and reviles. Alice may even be aware, on some level, that she does this...but she's compelled...the patterns are set in her brain." He pointed to his head as if I needed reminding where it was. "She'd have to work _very _hard to change her behavior, Bella."

"Wait...you're saying that she _knows_?"

Dr. Cullen nodded. "Possibly, but...OK. Let's consider. You have these carefully constructed ways of dealing with situations: avoiding social situations that are normal and unproblematic for others. You continue those patterns, even to your detriment. For Alice, it is likely the same."

It never occurred to me that Alice had trouble controlling anything. But I ran through memories of her again, recalling the events of the past few months in particular, and I began to see what Dr. Cullen saw.

"What can _I_ do?"

Dr. Cullen stopped writing. He closed my file and set it to his right. Then, he carefully laid the pen down on top.

Taking a breath, he leveled his gaze on my face.

"You can be understanding. Don't take things personally that really may not be about you. Your primary focus needs to be you. Try to help Alice understand reality when you can."

I remembered Jasper in the stairwell. Did he already know?

"OK. I understand."

"Good. Please, if you have more questions, I'm happy to answer them. Especially if it will help you deal with Alice in the future."

I nodded. I could tell our session was almost over because my mouth was dry, like I'd been talking for hours. My head ached, and I just wanted to go home and hide under the covers.

My arms stood in for my blanket as they wound around my shoulders. I avoided assuming a crash position. No need to look like I was ready for a padded cell.

Then I thought of Edward.

I wouldn't say things went _well_ when we had our joint session, but we managed to avoid disaster.

"Do you think Edward sounded good in the appointment yesterday?"

"Yes, I do. He's been making some impressive strides. Is there...anything from that session you need to talk about?"

I turned beet red, thinking of the paintings and my humiliation, anger flaring for a moment, but shook my head no. That was in the past, and I was ready to move on.

My mind drifted to other things, and I flushed again, for a different reason.

"He seems..." _sexy and I want to fuck his brains out,_ "more like himself again, but...better, somehow."

Dr. Cullen nodded.

"He's getting out next week, you know. Are you ready for that?"

Remembering him whispering about the things he'd been thinking about focused the question in my mind. Was I ready for sex with Edward?

"Yes. I'm ready."

**A/N: Thanks to Demon-A, Kikki7, and bornonhalloween for comments and editing. **

**Thanks to everyone who leaves notes, comments, and words of encouragement. It makes my day to get each one. If you like this story, feel free to comment, say "hello," or recommend it to others. Bella and Edward won't mind. :)**

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	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Brain Problem Situation**

"_And I think, maybe, but I don't know  
But I'm starting to feel like I got a  
Brain Problem Situation on my hands."_

Excerpt from "Brain Problem Situation" by TMBG

**EPOV**

I have always been what Rosalie calls a "creature of habit." Personally, I would prefer if she called me a "human of habit" or to be more precise "homo sapiens sapiens of habit." The very term "creature" seems a bit unsanitary to me; wild animals carry numerous diseases and bacteria. She has always been quick to point out that in the first place, it's a "saying" and in the second place, the point is that I require things to happen on a schedule and with consistency.

While the nurses in the hospital kept meds, meals, and visiting hours quite consistent, other activities were always conditional. That had been a challenge for me, especially in my first few days. A week before I would join the rest of the world, I had come to enjoy the quiet suspense of each day. Most days nothing particularly interesting would happen. But there was a group therapy session two weeks before, when one of the trained volunteers came out as a practitioner of the art of clowning to a patient with coulrophobia, by breaking out in what we all agreed was a frightening peel of maniacal laughter. Another time, I discovered why we weren't allowed to watch any show with Anderson Cooper. Even after the TV was turned off, it took several nurses and orderlies over an hour to get Edna to stop moaning about how his voice made her feel so sexy, and to get her back into her clothes.

With the exception of staring incredulously at Edna's pendulous breasts as she rocked her hips to the sound of Mr. Cooper's voice as he interviewed a forgettable A-list starlet, I managed to stay composed no matter what was happening. Even so, I looked forward to getting out of the unpredictability of the hospital and into the comparatively safe and recently washed arms of Bella.

I stood in front of the mirror, and for the first time in weeks, I shaved. There was an audience, despite my protestations. Dr. Cullen said it had little to do with what I might do to myself than patients using razors as weapons or for trade. In the end, I decided that feeling Bella's lips on my bare cheeks was worth someone being in my personal space for a few minutes.

I observed the smooth face, still wet from shaving, in the mirror. This was the face of someone who had slept soundly. No tight expression, body relaxed. I was certainly thinner but I didn't look weak. I smiled at myself to see what Bella would see when we met.

I grinned wider when I saw the evidence of joy.

One freshly washed and starched button-up shirt and a pair of gray slacks later and I was ready. I felt compelled to whistle a tune I'd been playing on the piano as I made my way to the section of the ward where the psychologists and psychiatrists had their offices.

As I rounded a corner, I saw her walking down the hallway. Her face was hidden by unruly strands of chestnut, but I would recognize that unbalanced gait and hand swiping at hair anywhere. She had a card she referred to after checking each of the doors. My lips stretched across my teeth and my eyes watered as they widened.

I was enjoying just standing there and observing her without her knowledge, but an unbridled, "Hello!" escaped my lips before I could think to stop it. I must have subconsciously feared she would be unable to hear me over the din of filtered air blowing into the passage and chattering visitors in the nearby waiting area, because even for me it was strident.

Her hair caught in her eyelashes as she jerked her head up. She waved her hand in front of her face, jabbing herself with the card.

"Ow!" She covered one eye with her hand.

With total disregard to personal safety, I ran to aid her. I was concerned she might get an infection if the card sliced through the delicate skin around her eye. "Did you cut yourself?" The lack of urgency in my tone surprised me.

It must have surprised her, too. Her uncovered eye bulged a little, reminding me of some images of proptosis I found after looking up possible results of head trauma when I fell back against the headboard of my bed.

"I don't think so!" She carefully pulled her cupped hand from her face, sweeping the hair back, and leaned forward a bit. "What do you think?"

The area above her right eye was a bit red. I wasn't worried, though. I had occasion to see her eye before she poked it; the redness wasn't due to disease. I expanded the examination area, taking in her whole face before homing in on the clear deep brown of her iris. Her pupil widened, making her eye twinkle.

"It's beautiful."

Then the eye rolled up and to the left. Her face flushed red.

Static electricity jolted between our hands as she reached for me. She squeezed. Her lips bunched together then moved to the side of her face.

"Missed you."

I squeezed back. "I missed you. May I kiss you? It's been 15 days since I've kissed you."

The scarlet on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest, which was visible due to the low neckline of her tank top. I knew this was not the time or place, but I wanted to see how far that flush had gone.

She looked down the hallway and back up to me, reached up and tweaked my hairless chin. "Is this for me?"

I nodded. "Do you like it?"

Bella bit her lip, as her fingers slid into the hair at the nape of my neck and pulled my head down. She pressed her lips firmly and directly to mine. Emmett said Rosalie did it like this every day. It used to make me ill, but for a while now it made perfect sense.

Not satisfied with the simple kiss, I wrapped my arms around her and picked her up off the floor, mashing our lips together, my teeth making an indention on the inside of my mouth.

She moaned and squeezed me tighter.

My hands slid down her back, as I pressed my abdomen and pelvic area to the front of her body. The contact and slight friction caused my penis stiffen. As my tongue found hers, I whispered against our mouths, "Bella...I want to have sex with you. Right now."

She interrupted the kiss, eyes widening with verbal rejection. "No! Not _now!_"

Her practicality was to be commended, even if it was not what I wanted to hear.

"You're right. This is a bad time. But if we didn't have an appointment in," I grudgingly released her back with my left hand and checked my watch, "two minutes, I would love to sneak away, go to my room, get undressed..."

My other hand slid teasingly over her backside, as though her waist continued. It was a small deception, but I'd been thinking more and more about the enticing fat deposits and the sexy blue skirt she wore the night we met. The temptation was too great not to take advantage while I had the chance.

With a subtle maneuver to her right, Bella's body pressed to my leg, her knee sliding up and then back down the outside of my thigh.

We stared at each other as our bodies responded to the friction we generated.

Dr. Cullen cleared his throat.

We released each other with lingering hands. I noticed that Bella had the same expression nurse Jane had when I caught her sneaking a piece of bacon off my breakfast tray.

Perhaps I did, too.

~~§•§~~

He had us sit in chairs in front of his desk.

This office was significantly smaller than his private practice office. Although I had not measured it precisely, my experience allowed me to make what I considered to be a highly accurate educated guess: eight feet by twelve feet.

Occasionally, I still itched to measure. But I'd become quite good at being satisfied with educated guesses. I had confirmed some of them in the ward, such as the size of my room, with a yardstick borrowed from the craft room. I had snuck it out during recreation by holding it to my side and trying to appear like any other patient heading to their room.

The first time I did it, the nurse stopped me as I passed by her station and asked why I was leaving in the middle of rec. I told her I wanted to go to my room to masturbate. She looked away and went back to typing at her computer. I didn't like lying, so after I finished measuring, I masturbated thinking of Bella's shiny hairless vulva.

The sensation of my cock stirring in my pants reminded me where I was. I struggled to look at Dr. Cullen and not at Bella.

"So. Welcome, Bella. How are you doing today?"

She took a deep breath before responding. "I'm good."

He turned to me. "And you, Edward? How have the exposure exercises I gave you last week been working out?"

Cock deflating, I turned my attention to reflecting on activities that I did not enjoy. Dr. Cullen and the other counselors said I needed to meet all of the goals I'd set before I left. One of them was being able to tolerate normal public exposure to germs.

"I am able to go all day without washing my hands, except before meals, and I do not avoid touching things with my hands, even if it makes me uncomfortable."

"Are you uncomfortable right now, since we're talking about it?"

I shifted in my seat and tried to be positive. "Yes, but it's not too bad. I just have to tell myself that I can wash up later."

"Before you were in the hospital, you talked about feeling 'phantom germs' on your hands even after you washed them. Is that still happening?"

"At first, I could feel them all over, as you know. But after being on medication a while, I stopped being scared and now it happens less. When we talk about it, I remember what it used to feel like. Or sometimes when I touch something dirty, it feels like there's a film of germs for a while, but it's not intrusive like it used to be. It goes away."

"Tell me about the last time you touched something dirty and the feeling returned," Dr. Cullen said.

I turned to look at Bella; she would know I was still broken.

"It wasn't a setback."

Dr. Cullen tilted his head; brows furrowed. This was his questioning face.

"Well, why don't you tell us what happened Edward? It might not be what you think."

Hesitation would not keep her from finding out.

"For the past few weeks, I've been playing piano during arts and crafts and during recreation. But yesterday, a guest painting teacher came in and the group counselor told him that I liked to draw. The guest teacher asked me to give painting a try, even though I've never had an interest. He said it would allow me to vary my creative expression. He said I could paint whatever I wanted."

_Anything I wanted_. That was easy. My recent artistic fixation had been Bella. My art had been her nude form. Playing piano was how expressed my feelings for her.

I was positive Bella would not like the drawings of her I had posted all over my room.

"I painted Bella. Nude."

She inhaled a sharp breath.

"Did anyone see it?" she asked.

Dr. Cullen put up his hands up, palms out.

"Wait a minute, Edward.

"Bella, here is an opportunity to talk to Edward about boundaries, but let's remember how we do that, OK? Edward is going to have a chance to tell what happened and then you can respond with how that makes you feel. Remember?"

Bella nodded, frowning, her arms crossed tightly over her breasts. They bulged up, the soft curve sloping down creating cleavage. I could bury my face there.

"Please continue, Edward."

I forced my eyes to look at Dr. Cullen.

"I wasn't trying to betray her," I clarified, gesturing to Bella rather than looking at her.

"Edward, let's take it one step at a time. Just tell us what happened, OK?"

I placed my hands on my knees and continued.

"I used several small canvasses, each one focusing on a different part of her body. I made it so I could put them together as one set piece. At one point, I was painting her vulva, making it look like her, but also like a flower, trying to make it tasteful, you see. I was using my fingers to smear the wet pigment. But then I noticed it drying on my skin—it felt a bit gritty when I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger; I could _feel_ the germs. There was this old rag on the easel but I knew that would make it worse. I just kept staring at my hand. I reminded myself that the paint was just paint and not germs."

Blinking, my hand came into focus in my lap. Clean. My breath hitched.

"When the art teacher came up to appraise my work, I told him I wished I hadn't gotten paint on my fingers. He told me to not to worry about it. 'Just go with it!' he said, and then he moved his hands together in a cosine wave.

"So I got up and went to the bathroom and washed my hands." I breathed easier as I recalled washing. I decided not to share that I had to do it three times to remove all the color from under my fingernails.

"Later, I wondered if I should be taking psychiatric advice from an artist. Does he have training in cognitive behavior therapy?"

There was a vocalized cough to my right as Bella covered her mouth, followed by a snort. I knew what that was. She was laughing. I had no idea what was so funny, but I'd do it again a million times to get her to do it again.

Dr. Cullen cleared his throat, lips twiching, and said, "He would have had basic training in how to work with patients, but I don't think he has any clinical certifications."

He sat up and grabbed the pen off of my file, jotting something down. "Bella, is there anything you'd like to say?"

I noticed she'd stopped laughing and had started biting her thumb. Normally this would make me nauseated, but today I merely felt distaste. I furrowed my brow.

Our eyes met. There was a look of...disappointment on her face. She sighed and looked at Dr. Cullen, then got up and stepped over to the tray of bottled water in the corner of the room and helped herself. I would never touch it. Bottled water was notorious for having all kinds of potentially dangerous microbial life.

After taking several gulps, she recapped the bottle and set it on the floor next to the chair. She faced me.

"I don't like the thought of other people seeing images of me naked, even if it is 'tasteful'." She even used air quotes.

"I didn't think you would, Bella, but only the art teacher saw them. And he's a professional, so it's OK."

Bella blew out a lungful of air through puckered lips. She cut her eyes to Dr. Cullen, then gripped her knees and squared her shoulders. She turned in her seat to face me.

"I am not comfortable with anyone seeing nude images of me without my permission, Edward. I understand how you feel, but this is _my_ body, and I would like for you to respect this boundary."

Leaning back, I looked at Dr. Cullen. "Should I try to reason with her?"

Dr. Cullen's eyes darted to Bella, then back to me, "Edward, other people's boundaries aren't about what you personally find reasonable. They are about the other person feeling comfortable. Remember when Emmett and Rosalie set a boundary with you about when it was and wasn't appropriate for you to use your key to come into their apartment?"

Rosalie didn't like me trying to explain to her that she was being irrational.

"I don't mind you drawing me, painting me, or even photographing me naked, Edward."

"It was a nude." She made it sound...illicit. It was art.

Stating the obvious didn't deter her. She sighed and continued, "Naked, nude, unclothed, however you want to say it." Her fists clenched and released. "It's just..._not_ OK for you to do that. Period! Just...ask my permission. You know, if you'd just..._called_ me first. I didn't even have a chance to consider it."

Dr. Cullen leaned forward and spoke softly to me, eyes drifting to Bella, "Edward, what I hear Bella saying is that she wants you to respect her boundary to keep intimate things between the two of you, and you _must_ always ask her if it's OK before showing other people your paintings of her. And if she says no, then you don't do it. And if she doesn't say 'yes' you still don't do it."

"It feels...kind of rapey, other people seeing me naked without my permission," Bella added.

Dr. Cullen nodded.

"Ah," I said, remembering the talk that Esme had with Emmett and me in high school. I think it was more for Emmett's benefit than mine, but I had always remembered what she said, "_You get a 'yes' before you cross that line, son. If she can't say 'yes,' then it's a 'no.' End of discussion. You leave her be. You got it?"_

"I understand." Although she hesitated when she saw my hands reach for her, Bella put her hands in mine. I stared directly at her pupils so she would know I was very serious. "I'm sorry I betrayed you like that, Bella. I won't do it again. I promise."

"I want those pictures. I don't want them in the hospital where someone else might see them," Bella said to me. Then, she turned to Dr. Cullen, "I want to go to his room and get them myself. Can I do that?"

Dr. Cullen scratched his chin. "I think we can manage that. Visiting hours start soon. Would you like to take them before it starts?"

"Thank you," she said to Dr. Cullen, then turned to me, "But I'm still mad at you. Give me some time, OK?"

She released my hands and faced forward, fingers sliding between her thighs.

Dr. Cullen had talked to me about Bella needing time to deal with betrayal after I'd sent that first letter to her months ago. I thought I had come a long way from that time, but clearly there were always new things to learn.

I was willing to give her as much as she needed, but I'd hoped it wouldn't be so long that she'd decide she didn't want to have sex with me when I got out of the hospital next week.

_It doesn't matter. You made the choice; you have to live with the consequences._ I had heard some incarnation of that bit of wisdom from several people.

The phantom germs were back. I looked down at my hands and laced them together. It was almost dinnertime, and I would get to wash soon. I could manage that.

"Bella, before you go, Edward would like to talk about his goals for when he leaves the hospital. Would you stay and hear what he has to say?"

She nodded and relaxed her arms.

"Edward, you said you had some specific goals that would require Bella's help. Now is probably not the best time to discuss anything are private and intimate, but I think it would be helpful for you to tell her about some of the goals you have for work and daily life."

~~§•§~~

Dr. Cullen stepped back and to the side to give me plenty of room as I exited his office. He was always looking out for me. And even if I didn't need for him to do it anymore, I appreciated it anyway.

We walked to the lobby in silence, my suitcase in hand between us. I was quite fit, but it made me off-balance, so I had to keep stepping carefully to avoid walking into him. Finally I switched to my non-dominant hand.

When we reached the doorway to the lobby, a nurse and incoming patient pushed past us. The patient didn't make eye contact, but I could see her eyes. For once, I wasn't jumping to the conclusion that she had the flu. I knew what caused her face to be flushed, what caused the skin around her eyes to puff up with fluid. She had been crying, probably for a while.

As they passed, I turned back to Dr. Cullen. He had stopped and was looking at me with his brows raised and pulled together. Concern.

"I'm okay," I said.

"It's very brave, Edward."

I looked down at the hand I held out to shake his. Was this the brave thing? Or the other thing?

Mouth in a straight line, he looked...determined. Like Emmett when he decided that he was going to open the store even though Rosalie said it would suck up all of their savings and then they would have to move to New Jersey.

Finally, he took my offered hand in his. His hands were cool and dry. Sanitary.

My lips turned up at the corners in response, and I watched as he mirrored my expression.

I squeezed his hand and let him lead on how much pressure to use when pumping the handshake. It felt uncomfortable to move like this, but I knew it was customary.

"No big deal," Emmett would say.

When Dr. Cullen released my hand, I resisted the urge to run to the restroom and wash. After all, this would probably be the most sanitary thing I would do all afternoon. Instead, I flexed my fingers and stepped away from him, heading for the door.

"Edward."

I turned back to see him lightly slapping my file against his thigh.

He tucked it under his right arm and slid his hand into his front pocket. "I almost forgot. Bella wanted me to give this to you." In his open hand was my cell phone.

I smiled down at it as if it were Bella herself. Reaching for it, my stomach rumbled at the unplanned contact, my fingers brushing his palm. It lasted only a moment, then it was in my hand.

"She put her cell and her home phone number in there."

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen."

The automatic doors opened and the air from the street blew toward my face. The smell was sharp, hot, nauseating. Stale, sun-warmed garbage, street food, and car exhaust filled my nose. But I could handle it. I didn't need time to adjust. It was just...

Okay.

I was okay. I glanced back and nodded to Dr. Cullen.

He waved, then disappeared behind the inner doors.

Time to face my choices.

~~§•§~~

The first choice was whether to take a taxi or walk five blocks from the hospital to my building. Walking seemed like the best idea. It would give me time to think about the practical issues in meeting my goal for today. Consumed by these thoughts, I almost ran into Rosalie and Emmett.

"Edward!" Rosalie shouted her shoe sale voice, her mouth wide and showing all of her teeth. Her eyes were huge, but the sides were crinkled. This was a genuine smile.

I was so glad not to be on her dirty list anymore. One of my goals was to never be on that list again. It was the least I could do for her, for all she'd done for me.

"You thought you were going to get to walk home alone? No way! Ro couldn't wait to see you. She's been cooking all morning."

"You didn't tell Bella, did you?" My body tingled with sexual tension.

Rosalie crossed her arms, and stared at me levelly. "I'm not okay with this plan, just so we're clear. But I've agreed to support you, so, no. I didn't tell her."

"Me, either. You know I got your back, Ed."

"Thank you. I appreciate your discretion."

"Good. Now, can we get out of here? I'm starving!" Rosalie said.

"I have the car. Will you ride with us, Ed?"

"Sure."

"Wait. No frantic demand that we have it detailed? No full-body Tyvek suit? No latex gloves?"

I considered. Rosalie and Emmett rode in their car all the time. They rarely got sick.

"No. I'm okay." I smiled at Rosalie to prove it.

I'd discovered what smiling could do in the hospital. It turned things around for me almost as effectively as the medication. Suddenly I was allowed to play the piano, shower alone, and even the nurse at the medication counter treated me like a person. Dr. Cullen said that when you treat people like people, they treat you like people, too.

That made a lot of sense to me.

I climbed into the backseat of their Range Rover.

Emmett was fiddling with the radio while Rosalie drove.

"No. I will not listen to the game in the car today. I want to hear about Edward's last few days. You can catch up online at home."

"But Ro! It will be in the past!"

Putting the car into park, she and turned in her seat to face him.

"I said, 'when we get home.' I _need_ you to wait. Do you want me to be distracted or what?"

She continued to stare at him, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift.

Emmett looked down her body, then back to her face.

"No. I don't," he said quietly. He turned to face the front and put his seatbelt on.

Emmett never wore a seatbelt. It was one of the things we disagreed about. He said there was very little to worry about in city traffic. Supposedly he wore one on longer car trips.

"Thank you.

"Edward. Please tell me about your last few days. Have you gotten to play the piano again? Did they let you listen to that Michael Bublé CD I sent?"

"I got to play every day! At first, everyone begged me to play song after song. I didn't know all of them, but I played whatever I could. Last week, the head nurse said I could only play during rec, and if it upset anyone, I'd not get to play at all. But no one complained. Even the guy with the bandage. He kept trying to sing along."

"I'm so glad to hear that." Rosalie's eyes met mine in the mirror. "I hope you'll keep playing."

"Well, I have the piano at Debussy's. So, perhaps not every day, but I hope to play once a week at least."

The mirror reflected her grin.

"Oh!" I remembered her other question. "I learned one of the songs on the CD you sent me. I'd like to play it for you sometime soon."

Rosalie hit the brakes and turned to face me.

"Look who's being reckless, now."

She pointed at Emmett. "Shush-you."

Then she turned to me, "Edward, I want to kiss your cheek and hug you!"

_Was I OK with that? _My eyes widened.

Someone honked at us.

Rosalie stuck her fist out the window. I think she did the bird one.

She turned a bit in her seat. "I know better than to try to do either one, unless you say it's OK, Edward."

I breathed easier. "I am okay. Just surprised."

"So am I," Emmett said, arms crossed, lower lip sticking out a little.

"Get over it. You need to learn to share my attention better."

We were moving again. As the buildings slid by, I heard sniffling. It was not clear whether it was Emmett or Rosalie. They both leaned toward the windows, so I couldn't tell by looking in the rearview mirror. Although I was curious, I had too many other things on my mind: logistics, anxiety, and timing among them. I had thirty minutes of googling to tackle, at least.

Rosalie stopped at the entrance to let Emmett and me out, then we waited in the lobby while she parked in the basement.

Shifting from side to side and rubbing his nose, Emmett waited quietly for Rosalie.

"Why are you nervous?"

"Huh?"

"You're doing that disgusting thing with your nose."

"Oh." He wiped his finger on his pants, as if that made it any better. "It's just. Stuff. Relationship stuff. Not bad. Just. Oh, good. Here she is."

Emmett grabbed her hand and tugged her back to the stairs. I followed close behind. I considered touching the handrail, but decided against it when I saw the old bits of chewing gum on the underside. Safety was important, but I had excellent balance and reflexes; it was not necessary to touch the rail.

We reached the top together. I turned and nodded to Rosalie and Emmett as they left me for their apartment, Emmett rushing her to unlock the door so he could catch up on what he'd missed of the game.

Perhaps that's what the nerves were about. He was probably gambling on the outcome.

After opening my door, I stopped and stared before stepping in. There, facing the large living room window, shiny, wet-looking, black, gold stamped below the music rack in fraktur: Bösendorfer.

Would it vanish before I could lay my fingers on the keys? I held my breath and stepped softly through the room. I blinked. Then I breathed in through my nose; there was a strong lacquer, spruce and iron smell. No. I was not hallucinating. Or, if I was, it was affecting my sense of smell, too.

I raised the fall and grazed my fingertips over the glossy keys. The action was so sensitive, my digits danced up and down the keyboard as I played a few scales. The bass notes were so resonant, my chest vibrated a little.

My lips pulled back into a smile, and I looked up at the reflection of my face, which was obscured by a small envelope propped up on the music stand. I picked it up and turned it over. It was sealed.

Carefully closing the lid, I slid off of the bench, then walked over to my desk and pulled out my letter opener, sliding the knife into the corner and slicing it at the fold.

On a piece of white cardstock was a familiar and uneven scrawl:

_It's no latex glove, but I hope you enjoy it anyway._

I laughed loudly.

"She called last week and asked if we could open the door for delivery."

Rosalie was standing in the doorway.

"It was hard to lie and tell her you were getting out tomorrow."

"Also," said Emmett, appearing behind her, "she's going to be wicked pissed that she didn't get to see your face when you saw her gift."

I looked at my watch, noting that it would be at least an hour before she would be finished at work.

"She took the day off to unpack so she could spend the weekend with you. So, she should be home."

Stepping back to the piano, I explored it with hands and eyes, being as gentle as I was with her the first time I touched her skin.

"You gonna call her?" Emmett asked.

"No." I shook my head slowly, lips twitching to smile, noticing the faint smell of her perfume that told me she'd sat where I was sitting not very long ago.

"I am going to surprise her."


End file.
